History
by Moon Raven2
Summary: The early-morning murder of a DCPD detective finds his partner, Emily Prentiss, joining the team on their latest case. Gideon's old suspicions about Jackson come to the fore. Sequel to "Endgame" and "Reckoning." AU/OFC/case-fic. Chap. 13 is here!
1. Morning, Interrupted

**History

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**a/n:** Just a quick note to help you find your way. :) This story takes place immediately following the prologue in "Reckoning." If you haven't read either "Reckoning" or "Endgame," I would recommend reading at least the first two chapters of "Endgame" and...well, at least the prologue of "Reckoning," though then you'll probably have more questions than answers. :)

Obviously, this is the third story in the Elliot Jackson series. Check my profile to see the full list in order. :)

Enjoy! And drop me a review if you're feeling so inclined.

**Disclaimer: **Criminal Minds and the characters pertaining thereto do not belong to me. Thanks to Jeff Davis, et al., for creating them and letting me play. :D

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**Chapter 1: Morning, Interrupted  
**

**And if we go home tonight,  
You might find the very thing  
That come the morning light might well have washed your mind of him.  
So let me in tonight so we two losers might start to win.  
**-Del Amitri, "It Might As Well Be You"

It was still early; not quite seven, she gauged by the quality of light; but the birds were up and about in happy little choirs. It was spring in northern Virginia, good and proper, and that meant chirping birds, blooming flowers, and itchy noses. The good far outweighed the bad, and it was a wonderful time to be alive. Elliot Jackson had more reason to be thankful than most: the recent ordeal she and her partner, Spencer Reid, had been through in Florida was still very fresh in her mind.

But for now Jackson rolled over in bed with a long, contented sigh. Even though she was still bruised, still hurting, she felt like she might actually recover. Last night had been a step in the right direction for sure. Smiling, she slid her hand across the bed to find…empty space. Her smile melted into a frown as she sat up; brushed short brown hair out of her face. He was gone. What…?

Anger was tickling the back of her mind when she saw the note. Of course. He wouldn't just disappear; that wasn't his way.

_Els –_

_Went to get pancakes. You looked like you could use the sleep. See you soon.  
Yours,  
Taj_

_PS: don't you dare put any clothes on before I get back!_

The postscript made her laugh aloud. Typical Taj. She glanced at the clock: seven AM, just as she'd predicted. She yawned. Snuggled back under the covers, and it was hardly any time at all before she was asleep again.

Her dreams were dark; haunted. A small, bare cell. A mad man with a gun. Spencer with a needle. Spencer, again, this time shooting _her_ instead of their kidnapper. She tossed restlessly; swore she could hear the gunshot; but after a time the nightmares faded and she slipped more deeply into sleep.

Hours later some annoying, insistent noise tugged her toward consciousness. She tried to ignore it, but it wouldn't go away, and as awareness gradually returned, she realized it was her BlackBerry. With a grunt of irritation she began blindly groping for it. Her hand brushed across the nightstand's surface, and she heard the decisive thud of small electronic equipment hitting oak flooring.

Sighing melodramatically, she hopped from the bed (winced as her sore ribs protested such sudden movement) and retrieved the histrionic phone. A glance at the caller ID told her the early caller was Aaron Hotchner, her boss at the BAU, and that it wasn't nearly as early as she'd expected – nearly ten o'clock. She spared a brief moment to wonder how the hell long it took to get pancakes before answering the call.

"Jackson," she gasped.

"E.J., you sound out of breath. Everything ok?"

"Yes, sorry, I just dropped my phone and had to chase it. Early morning aerobics are hard on the ribs. What's up?"

There was a heartbeat of silence. "E.J., listen. I know it's Saturday and you've had a rough week – to say the least – but I need you on a case."

She blinked. Why did he sound so strange? "I, um…I've been cleared for work, Hotch, you know that."

"Right," he said a bit too quickly, "of course. We're just around the corner from you, at the Fig Tree Café. How soon can you be here?"

She tried to shake the instant, all-encompassing feeling of dread that suddenly descended over her and her formerly perfect Saturday morning. "Give me twenty minutes," she rasped out.

"Good. I'll see you soon."

She hung up without replying, and her eyes instantly landed on Taj's note. He'd been gone nearly three hours. It didn't take three hours to grab breakfast, especially not in this part of Alexandria; there were small cafes and restaurants all over the place (_like the Fig Tree,_ that annoying little voice in the back of her mind taunted). It should've taken thirty minutes, max. Maybe he got called in to work? Just like she was being called in…

She glanced down at the BlackBerry she was gripping much too tightly and realized that all of this anxiety could be quelled with one phone call. She could hear his voice, tell him she'd been called in, hear his excuse for taking so long…but she didn't make that call. Instead her small, trembling hand gently replaced the phone on the nightstand, and she turned toward her bathroom. The shower, and her day, beckoned, however unwelcome the latter might be.

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_Quite short, but those of you who know me know my first chapters often are. :) I like to tease you guys a little bit. Look for chapter 2 soon!_

_I know there's not much to go on here, but if you're looking forward to chapter 2, why not toss me a lil review? They make me happy. :)  
_


	2. Death and Pancakes

**a/n:** Thanks to **I Philosoraptor** and **chiroho** for your always kind, thoughtful, and insightful reviews. To answer a question chiroho posed in his, yes, this takes place between 2x17 "Distress" and 2x18 "Jones." I would rather have moved the time line along a little, but I wanted the story to take place immediately following "Reckoning," so there it is.

I've already written to about chapter 5, and I still haven't really gotten to the true meat of the story yet. I think this's gonna be a long one. :)

Enjoy, and please review me if you stopped by. :)

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**Chapter 2: Death and Pancakes**

**I never knew you;  
You never knew me.  
Say hello, goodbye.  
**-David Gray, "Say Hello, Wave Goodbye"

Hotch snapped his phone closed with a short, bleak sigh. He looked up and into Jason Gideon's deep eyes. "You didn't tell her," the older man said softly.

"No," Hotch replied. "How could I? Besides, we don't even know the relationship. She might barely know him. Better to let her get here; we can explain everything to her in person." He frowned, watching as the M.E. removed the bagged bodies. "Have you gotten in touch with the partner?"

"The DC police are on their way. They said these are the fifth and sixth murders matching this MO in the last three months. They had been thinking of calling us in anyway; now that it's one of their guys in the bag, they're glad to have us."

"Agent Hotchner?" a slightly husky female voice said from behind them. The two men turned to take in the tall, elegant brunette with dark, somber eyes and porcelain skin. She held out a hand. "Detective Emily Prentiss. Taj was my partner."

Hotch shook the offered hand. "Taj?" he asked, even as some signal went off in his brain. He knew this woman from somewhere, he was sure of it. But where?

"Peter McCall, your…victim." Her voice caught on this last word. "We all called him Taj," she continued after a moment. "It's a nickname he brought over with him from the Agency."

"The Agency," Gideon said. "Detective McCall was a spook before he became a cop?"

"Yes," Prentiss confirmed. "He joined the DCPD two years ago. We've been partners the last year."

"Emily Prentiss," Hotch suddenly said. "Your mother is the ambassador, Elizabeth Prentiss."

Prentiss' dark eyes glanced toward the agent, her brows rising briefly. "Of course," she said, voice warming slightly as recognition clicked, "Aaron Hotchner. You were assigned to my mother's security detail, weren't you?"

He nodded, a smile momentarily brightening his pensive features. "My first assignment. It seems like a very long time ago." His brows drew together in consideration. "You were on your way to…Yale, was it? How does one go from Yale to being a cop?"

A brilliant grin illuminated her face before it faded. It was dazzling, like a camera flash in a dark room. "I went to Yale. I graduated. I was bored. I thought about the Bureau, but I decided being a cop would piss my mother off that much more. So here I am." Her face clouded as she took in the pool of blood staining the floor. "And there's Taj," she said softly. "What happened here?"

"What do you mean 'there's Taj'?" a new voice demanded.

Hotch closed his eyes a moment. Shit, that wasn't at all according to plan. Sighing, he turned toward his newest agent, a very-distressed looking Elliot Jackson; she still had bruises on her face, for God's sake. "E.J.," he murmured, "maybe we should go sit down."

"I don't want to sit down. I want to know what's happening here. Where's Taj?"

"Who are you?" Prentiss asked, though not unkindly.

"I could ask you the same thing," Jackson replied sharply. She was being rude, she knew, but she hadn't cared for the woman's tone when she had said Taj's name. It had sounded…proprietary.

Hotch and Gideon exchanged wary looks. "Elliot, this is Detective Emily Prentiss of the DCPD. Detective Prentiss, Dr. Elliot Jackson, a member of my team."

The blood seemed to drain from Jackson's face in an instant, and Hotch reached out a hand toward her, afraid she might keel over. "You're his partner," she managed in a thick, strangled voice. "Why are you here? Where the hell is Taj?"

"Jack, did you and Detective McCall work together at the Agency? Is that how you know him?" Gideon asked.

Her normally clear glass-green eyes looked fuzzy and dazed as they drifted from Hotch to the older agent. "Yes," she answered briefly. "You never profiled him?"

Gideon shrugged. "I didn't profile everyone," he responded. "You, for instance."

"What are you doing here anyway?" she asked a bit testily. "I thought you were off to your cabin last night."

"I was delayed," he replied simply.

Hotch glanced between his former mentor and the young agent. There was something going on here, some undercurrent in their conversation that he didn't understand. He definitely didn't like it. "E.J., I called you because when the Alexandria PD examined Detective McCall's phone, your number was the last one he dialed. Why is that?"

She swallowed; tried to collect herself. Her gaze lingered on the pool of blood. Hotch had been trying to block her view of it with his body, but a slight shift of his weight had brought the too-vivid puddle to her attention. "We went out last night," she told him in a soft, dull voice. "He left this morning to get pancakes before I woke up. That's why he was here."

"Was the safe opened?" Prentiss asked Hotch; her voice was hushed, as though she didn't want to intrude on Jackson's grief.

"Yes, but we don't think anything is missing."

She nodded knowingly. "Sounds like the same guy. I've got four murders on my desk with this MO. The first two were in DC, then a double at a convenience store in Arlington."

"Tell me what happened," Jackson said. "Please, Hotch."

"Detective McCall was here getting breakfast," he began, his tone gentle. "The UnSub came in, forced the owner to open the safe, and then he shot your friend and the café owner. We didn't find Detective McCall's weapon."

"No," she replied, "he left it on my hall table. Breakfast isn't usually so violent."

"Our guy never takes anything," Prentiss told them in a grim voice. "He hits places when they're as empty as possible, one or two employees only. He wants to make sure he can control the situation."

"This is about power, the thrill of the kill," Gideon said, rubbing his hands together. "Hotch, call the rest of the team. We need to start working on a profile. This guy isn't going to stop anytime soon, especially once he learns he killed a cop."

"E.J., go home," Hotch ordered quietly. "We'll call you once we know anything."

She looked up at him helplessly. "You can't make me stay out of this, Hotch. You need me for victimology. Let me read the scene."

"No," Gideon said quickly. "No, Jack, this scene is one you don't need to read. Do you really want to know what happened in that much detail?"

She shuddered at the thought. "Good point. But I'm not going home. Detective Prentiss is his partner; you're not cutting her out."

"That's different," she protested.

Hotch eyed her. "Not terribly." He sighed. The last thing he felt like doing was arguing with her when she got that stubborn glint in her eye. "Fine, but only because Reid's out sick. I can't be down two agents. But, E.J., I'm going to trust you to pull out if it becomes too personal, understand?"

"Thank you, sir. You won't regret it."

"I better not," he muttered, following her as she moved out onto the street to begin questioning witnesses.

* * *

_And Prentiss makes the scene, as promised. :)_

_Um. I've said this many times before, and I'm sure as long as I write I'll never stop saying it: sometimes stories write themselves, and we as the writers just have to follow along, trying desperately to keep up. This story is one such, and as a result the plot isn't going quite as I planned. You'll understand that a lot more as it progresses. :) Let's all see what happens together, shall we?_

_Reviews are like cookies; delicious and happy-making!  
_


	3. Secrets and Lies

**a/n: **Thank you to my kind and generous reviewers! You're all my favorite. :)

See the end note for a bit more information...

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**Chapter 3: Secrets and Lies**

**Paint over the cracks,  
Then cover what you thought  
Was the worst-ever pain with another.  
The first one, it always comes free.  
**-David Ford, "State of the Union"

"Hey, baby girl, happy Saturday," Derek Morgan called out to Penelope Garcia as he spotted her across the bullpen. Her blond hair was braided in pigtails, and she had a huge magenta silk gerbera daisy tucked behind one ear. Her skirt was covered in red, fuchsia and purple daisies, and she had a cardigan the same shade of purple thrown over her shoulders. In other words, she looked exactly like Garcia. It warmed his heart.

She glowered. "It _was_ a happy Saturday, until my phone rang and woke me from the greatest dream…" Her eyes went hazy before her attention snapped back to Morgan. Cheeks suddenly flamed bright pink, and she ducked her head with a little squeak. "That's not important. Do you know anything about the case?"

He raised his brows at her, but decided not to ask. "Hotch didn't tell me much on the phone. Apparently the latest vic is DCPD, though. That's part of why it's become so high priority."

Crimson lips parted in distress. "We've got a dead cop? Very bad."

"You're tellin' me, mama. Why don't you go do that voodoo you do so well and find out if any of our vics link up? It'd be nice to have something to give Hotch and Gideon when they get back here."

She grinned. "I'm already on it, sugar. Hotch gave me the list of names, and they're running through all my checks as we speak. Tell me something: who is the Queen of the Information Superhighway?"

"You are, baby girl. It's all you."

She patted his cheek. "Don't you forget it, tall, dark and handsome. Now I must return to work. You know where to find me if you need all your dreams to come true!"

He watched her sashay away with a smile. "I surely do, Ms. Garcia," he murmured. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to work. He was on his way to the conference room when the elevator dinged and the rest of the team – minus Reid, who was "out sick" – filed into the bullpen. His dark brows came together when he caught sight of Jack. She looked…shell-shocked, he decided.

"Morgan," Hotch said, indicating the tall brunette next to him, "this is Detective Emily Prentiss of the DCPD. Peter McCall was her partner; she's going to be joining us on the investigation since the first three cases are hers."

Morgan shook the woman's hand. "Derek Morgan," he told her. "I'm sorry about your partner."

She nodded. "Thank you, Agent Morgan." She indicated the briefcase she was carrying. "I brought the files I have with me. Where can I set up?"

J.J. smiled at the taller woman. "Follow me; I'll take you to the conference room. Would you like some coffee?"

"Coffee would be great," she admitted, the corners of her mouth lifting at the thought.

"This way, then; hopefully someone remembered to start a pot," the pretty blond said with a meaningful glance in Morgan's direction.

He tried to look innocent, but J.J. just shook her head and led Prentiss to the coffee bar. "Garcia's running checks on the vics now," Morgan told Hotch. "Soon we'll know if they share any connection."

Gideon shook his head slowly, contemplatively. "Not necessarily. If any of them were Agency, it might not show up on Garcia's standard checks."

Morgan looked blank a moment. "McCall was CIA?"

"Former," Jackson told him in a small, bleak voice.

His concerned dark eyes homed in on her. That was why she looked like a train wreck; she'd known the latest vic. "Friend of yours?" he asked softly.

Her mouth twisted. "You could say that," she replied wryly.

Hotch cleared his throat, glaring severely at Morgan over Jackson's head. Taking the hint, he let it go. "E.J., let's go to my office," Hotch told her. "We need to talk about Detective McCall."

Gideon elected to follow them, and Morgan was left standing alone in the bullpen, feeling as though he were missing a huge piece of this particular puzzle.

* * *

The three agents filed into Hotch's office and sat, Hotch joining them on their side of his desk. He felt that now wasn't the time to barricade himself behind the expanse of mahogany. Silence filled the room, and after a moment the team leader leaned toward his newest agent. "Tell us about Detective McCall, E.J.," he requested gently. "Why do you call him 'Taj'?"

She smiled, briefly. "He's Indian; adopted, obviously; and his last name is 'McCall.' 'Taj' was a pretty natural nickname, don't you think? We were big on nicknames at the Agency."

"In a world of secrets and lies, the nicknames provided a sense of honesty," Gideon observed quietly.

"Yes," she agreed. "I'd known him nearly ten years. He was a good agent."

"Detective Prentiss got us a victim list," Hotch said. He fanned several photos out in front of her. "Do you know any of these people?"

She stared down at the photographs, green eyes going wide. She pointed. "Alyssa Horton. We went to high school together."

Graying brows drew together over dark eyes as Gideon pondered. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You've read my file, Gideon; think about it."

His face clouded; cleared; creased in a deep, hard frown. "Silar Creek Academy. It's not a regular school, is it?"

She shook her head slowly. "No. The Agency recruits 'young people of interest' and sends them to Silar to 'further foster developing talent.' It says that last bit in the brochures, even; it sounds good on every level."

Hotch absorbed this in silence; Gideon just watched, as none of it was news to him. "Psychics," Hotch said after a moment.

"Psychics, yes. And others. Geniuses like Reid; anyone who might be of special aid to the country. I can't go into too much detail, but let me say there are plenty of people there who are far better at what I do than I am."

"What do you mean?" Hotch asked with narrowed eyes.

She fidgeted a moment. "I've seen a man walk into a room full of people, and within thirty seconds he knew every dirty little secret, every nasty little thought, every hidden, shameful desire each person had ever had. He didn't touch any of them. They never knew he was reading them. It was…horrifying."

"You can't do that," Gideon remarked in an almost-question.

She shook her head violently. "I wouldn't want to." She hesitated; bit her lower lip even though it was still sore from Burns' punch. "They trained us to use our abilities; some of us were trained to be more passive, a bit more benign; others were trained to be quite aggressive."

"And Detective McCall was one of these?"

"Taj? Oh, no. He was blinkered. I didn't meet Taj until after I graduated and joined the Agency proper."

"Blinkered?" Hotch asked, frowning.

"It's school slang. You know, like those things they put on carriage horses – the blinders. It just means he was normal."

"And Alyssa Horton?" Gideon asked.

Jackson swallowed. "She was…I…"

"It's ok, E.J.," Hotch encouraged quietly. "You know we need to know."

She looked away; her face scrunched. "She was very powerful. I didn't know her well; she scared me. She loved her ability, loved using it to scare the straights. She'd pull some insanely obscure bit of knowledge or some deep, dark secret from your mind and throw it out at you at the worst possible moment. She laughed at the hurt and fear she caused."

"Sounds charming," Gideon said. "So was she involved with what happened at Silar Creek?"

"What happened at Silar Creek?" Hotch demanded as his dark brows drew together.

"She was a student there; why wasn't she one of the victims? Or maybe she was the UnSub?" Gideon persisted while ignoring Hotch.

"You didn't profile a woman," Jackson replied quietly.

"I didn't profile much of anything; I got pulled too fast. I want to know what you know about the case, Jack."

She crossed her arms over her chest; drummed the fingers of one hand against the opposite elbow. "How much do you know about the murders at Silar Creek?" she asked contemplatively.

He frowned. "Little. I tried to aid the investigation, but I was shut down. I offered to draw up a profile, to interview witnesses, to view the crime scenes; I was cordially rejected every time."

She sighed; lifted her hands in a tired, defeated gesture. "The first victim was my partner's wife," she told him softly. "Andrea Talbot. That's how I got involved in it all; Danny asked me to do what I could since he was naturally excluded. I partnered up with Taj, since he was already on it."

"Is that why the Agency took over a serial case that rightly should have belonged to local authorities and the BAU?" he barked in a harsh, acrimonious tone.

"Yes," she replied simply. "That, and…the other three victims were students at Silar Creek Academy." Jackson looked away, her pretty face set in somber lines. "The three young women killed were very promising. One had an ability similar to mine; the other two had IQ's on par with Spencer's."

"Who would have that kind of information?"

"Hardly anyone. It had to be someone on the inside. That's why the Agency took over the case. They didn't want anyone else digging into all their secrets, dirty and otherwise."

"And would anyone outside the Agency know McCall was one of the agents who worked that case?"

"No, no one."

"What are the odds two agents have gone rogue?"

"Low. But, Jason…" She hesitated, leaned closer. "I'm not convinced anyone went rogue at all. With the exception of Andrea – a red herring if there ever was one – I think, maybe, the Slayer was just following orders. And I think he still is."

"Enough," Hotch interrupted in that steely voice that stopped everyone cold. He had no clue what they were talking about, but he felt it was too early to be jumping to any conclusions. And he needed to know more. "E.J., talk to Detective Prentiss. I want the two of you to go re-interview anyone related to the Alyssa Horton murder. Also, talk to her about the other victims; if this case you're talking about is truly a connection, we need to know about it."

"Hotch, I—"

"You're not being punished, E.J. I need you working victimology on this one; you know two of the victims, and you might know more."

After a moment she nodded and left to do as he ordered. The two men sat facing each other in silence; Hotch crossed his arms over his chest and fixed his former mentor with a penetrating glare. "Tell me about Silar Creek," he ordered shortly.

* * *

_For those of you worried, Reid will be making his entrance in chapter 5. I was going to almost entirely leave him out because of withdrawal, but then I got sad and missed his dorkiness. :)_

_I'm keeping things mysterious on purpose, so just stick with it and you'll figure out what's going on along with the rest of the team._

_Thanks for reading! Reviews get you gold stars. :)  
_


	4. Some Explanations

**a/n:** Thanks to my wonderful reviewers who are always so lovely and insightful; reading your reviews always makes me smile!

In case you can't tell from the chapter title, this one will include some explanations. :) Reviews are wonderful.

* * *

**Chapter 4: Some Explanations**

**You know that you're my best friend;  
That kind of love will never run out.  
**-Ari Hest, "When Everything Seems Wrong"

"Jack," J.J. hailed her darker colleague as she emerged from Hotch's office. "We're set up in the conference room." She paused to study Jackson's face with a deep, concerned frown. "Are you ok? I heard Detective McCall was a friend."

Jackson didn't bother trying to drudge up a smile for J.J.'s benefit; she knew her friend would understand, and she wouldn't be fooled by any attempt at bluffing. "I'm not sure it's really hit me yet," she admitted. "I just want to focus on the case; the sooner we find this UnSub, the sooner I can…" She hesitated; shrugged. "Mourn, I guess," she finally decided.

J.J. gave her shoulder a quick, gentle squeeze. "If you need anything, case-related or otherwise, you know where I am. I mean it, Jack."

"Thank you, J.J.," she replied, genuinely touched by the other woman's concern. "I appreciate it."

The blonde's lovely face lit with a warm smile. "Anytime. Now I'm off to call Spence; Hotch wants him kept up-to-date so we don't have to waste time filling him in when he gets back."

"Go on, mother hen; I'll see you later." The two exchanged parting smiles before Jackson smoothed her face and entered the conference room. Crime scene photos glared at her from every angle, and she let her eyes drift over them without focusing. Her gaze came to rest on Morgan and Detective Prentiss where they sat together at the round table. Files were strewn everywhere, and the two had obviously been in deep discussion about the details of the case.

"Hey, pint size," Morgan greeted her as he looked up from an autopsy report.

Her mouth curved, and she was grateful that Morgan, at least, wasn't treating her like she was about to lose her shit. "Morgan, Detective Prentiss," she said with nods to each of them.

"Please," Prentiss said, "if we all keep _Agent_ing and _Detective_ing each other, we'll be here all day. Just plain 'Prentiss' is fine."

"Prentiss," Jackson replied, "everyone around here calls me 'Jack.' I'd like to apologize for my earlier behavior; I wasn't exactly myself."

The other woman smiled ruefully. "Neither was I. No apology needed. Taj always spoke very well of you."

Jackson's brows quirked in surprise. "Taj talked about me?"

"You're Els, right? Yeah, he was constantly talking about how perceptive you are. He said…" She suddenly frowned as an old memory resurfaced. "He told me once that if anything ever happened to him, you were the person I should call. He said you would figure it out. I laughed at him when he said it. I'd almost forgotten that."

"Detective McCall was in fear of his life?" Morgan asked.

Prentiss shrugged. "Not exactly. It was something he said sort of off-handedly. It's been a while ago, and he hadn't mentioned it since."

Jackson's face had gone tight; her mouth was a grim line. "Taj never did or said anything without a reason. He knew someone would come for him sooner or later."

The detective drummed the end of her pen against the table. "She's right," she told Morgan with a slow, thoughtful nod. "Taj was always very precise. He wouldn't have said something so paranoid-sounding unless he had a reason to be paranoid."

Jackson's legs suddenly felt weak, and her face was pale as she collapsed into one of the nearby chairs. "I think we need to go over the victim list very carefully, Prentiss. Taj was a spy; Alyssa Horton was CIA-trained. There are other connections; Taj wasn't the only one who had reason to be paranoid."

"You think the victims might be specific targets because of their involvement with the Agency?" Morgan asked, brows drawing together over wide brown eyes.

She shook her head. "It's too early to tell. Two doesn't make a pattern, just a funny coincidence."

"Or the other victims could be camouflage," Prentiss offered.

"Like in the Beltway Killer case," Morgan agreed.

"There have only been two double murders, right?" Jackson asked.

Prentiss nodded, pointing out the crime scene photos on the board. "Alyssa Horton and John Dempsey, and now today, Taj and Alexander Nelson."

"Dempsey was an employee at the convenience store and Nelson owned the café. It's possible that the first two murders were simply to establish an MO that the UnSub could then use to cover up the killings of his actual targets – Horton and Detective McCall," Morgan speculated.

"We should get the team together," Jackson said. "Gideon and I need to explain a few things, I think, and we all need to be briefed on the case thus far."

"Aren't you down a man?" Prentiss asked. "Agent Reid?"

Morgan and Jackson exchanged a silent glance. "He's…been ill," Jackson answered. "He might be able to join us tomorrow. Hopefully."

"It'd be nice," Morgan said. "I think this case is gonna require everything we've got…and then some."

Jackson let out a soft breath as her clear green gaze drifted over the photos once again. "I think you're right, Morgan. And it scares the hell out of me."

* * *

"The Silar Creek Slayer," Gideon stated into the conference room's expectant silence.

"Never heard of him," Morgan remarked.

"No," Jackson agreed, "you wouldn't have. The whole thing was kept very quiet." She shifted in her chair; took a sip of bitter coffee. "The Slayer killed four women over six months in 2002. He stopped abruptly after the fourth victim, and he hasn't been heard from since."

"Do you have files for these cases?" J.J. asked.

Gideon shook his head. "Doubtful. Maybe buried somewhere at Langley. Who knows."

"This was never a BAU case," Hotch observed.

"I was consulting with the CIA at the time," Gideon said. "I knew about the Slayer, but when I offered my expertise—"

"The Agency preferred to keep things in-house," Jackson interrupted quietly. She told them everything she'd told Hotch and Gideon earlier, excepting the more esoteric parts of her high school's curriculum. "I can get us files. It won't be easy, but I can get them," she concluded.

"What does any of this have to do with our case?" Prentiss asked.

"Taj was a lead investigator on the Silar Creek case," Jackson told her. "Just before we were shut down, we theorized that the Slayer stopped killing because he was finished, simple as that."

"Finished?" Hotch echoed. "E.J., you don't really believe—"

"I don't know what to believe, Hotch. All I know is I got into the investigation near the beginning; we never got anywhere through three other deaths; and then shortly after the fourth murder we were unceremoniously shut down."

There was another silence as the group mulled this over. Finally, Morgan said, "What was the Slayer's MO? Gun?"

"No," Gideon said. "He garroted his victims from behind."

"That's totally different," Morgan said. "Why would someone go from garroting to shooting? It doesn't make sense."

"I'm not saying our UnSub is the Slayer," Jackson told him. "All I'm saying is Taj was involved in that case, and Alyssa was a student at Silar the same time as the Slayer's victims.

"You were a student at Silar, too," Hotch commented.

"Ye-es," she agreed reluctantly, "but I graduated in '99. That's several years before the Slayer got started."

"Still," Morgan said. "If our current UnSub is going after people involved in that case, or is finishing what the Slayer originally started, then it's possible you could be a target."

"That's a secondary concern right now," she insisted.

"Is it?" Prentiss said. "Taj was apparently worried that someone might be after him; he said you would know why. What other cases did the two of you work together besides this one?"

"Taj wasn't my partner. We were involved in some of the same cases, sure, but the only one we worked very closely was Silar Creek."

Hotch rubbed his face in resignation. What a day. One agent out with hydromorphone withdrawal; another the possible target of an UnSub. The inevitable jurisdictional battles with the CIA. The strange tension between E.J. and Gideon. "Alright, here's what's going to happen. E.J., get us the Slayer files. I can make some calls, too, if I have to, and if all else fails, we'll get Garcia on it. J.J., call Reid again. I want to know when he might be able to come in; we need him here. Gideon, work with Morgan and Detective Prentiss to start drawing up a preliminary profile on the shooter."

He paused. Then, "I'm going to talk to Garcia; we need whatever she has on the victims, and I want her to start looking into the Silar Creek victims, too."

"So you think the two cases are connected?" Gideon asked.

"I don't know," he admitted, "but we need to find out. E.J., I know you consider your own safety secondary to this case, but you are not to leave this office without an armed escort, do you understand me?"

She nodded with uncharacteristic meekness. "Yes, sir."

He cast a grim glance around the room. "Alright, people; let's get to work."

They scattered.

* * *

_So I sort of have this problem. I wrote the last chapter, but I'm a little stuck on the stuff to get from here to there. I have about three more chapters written, and I'm working on the rest, but it's being difficult._

_Also, to answer _**Quentin2**'s _question, the town of Silar Creek, the school, and the Silar Creek Slayer are all my creation. I wanted to give E.J. some back story. :)_

_Reviews do help my muse, so keep 'em coming. :)  
_


	5. Doubts

**a/n:** For the five or so of you following this story, sorry it's taken me so long to update! I was waiting for my new computer, and now I have it. Hooray! 13" MacBook Pro to replace my ancient, battered, well-loved PowerBook G4. Now I just need to find a bootleg copy of Photoshop...not that I would do that...it's illegal... ;)

As usual, a big thanks to **chiroho** for his review from last chapter. This chapter is sort of filler, or a bridge, to get to the next bit. Reid is back (for those of you missing him), and the action (such as it's been) will pick up a bit more next chapter.

Enjoy, and drop me a review, please! :)

* * *

**Chapter 5: Doubts**

**I saw pictures in my head;  
And I swear I saw you opening up again.**  
**I would be heavenly if  
You would just rescue me now.**  
-Matt Nathanson, "I Saw"

Spencer Reid was sprawled on his living room couch staring at the ceiling. He was currently taking careful stock of his physical condition. He still felt a bit sick and shaky, a bit weak, but overall he was much improved. It had been several days since he last used, all the way back to the cell with Jack, and he felt…good. Exhausted. Smelly. But good.

He was contemplating solid food (worth the risk or not?) when his phone rang. Again. He checked the Caller ID and saw that it was J.J. Again. He sighed. He was supposed to be out until Wednesday, but he knew two calls in a few hours meant that the case was high priority. Hotch would want him back as soon as possible.

"J.J., what's up?" he said into the phone.

"_Spence, hi, I'm sorry to bother you again. It's about the case._"

"Of course it is. What's going on?"

"_We've got some information about an old case Jack worked at the CIA. It might be connected to these shootings, and Hotch really wants you on this. If you're up to it, of course._"

He sighed again. Ran a hand through his short, tangled curls. "Yeah, ok. Give me an hour."

"_Are you sure, Spence? We've got a detective from the DCPD assisting us, so—_"

"It's fine, J.J. Just…just make sure there's fresh coffee."

"_Will do. See you soon._"

He said his goodbyes and ended the call. He had gathered from his last conversation with J.J. that the most recent victim was the man Jack had been on her way to see after leaving him last night. She'd said they'd worked together at the Agency; had been involved before. Reid imagined she was taking the man's death fairly hard, but she wasn't showing it. She'd be concentrating on the case – since apparently Hotch hadn't summarily sent her home – and keeping the emotions it dredged up buried.

Sometimes they were too much alike for Reid's comfort.

He had reached the bathroom by this time, and he stared at his own reflection for several long heartbeats. His face was drawn and pale, and his hazel eyes seemed sunken into the sockets. His hair looked like he'd stuck his hand in a wall socket. With a resigned frown, he reached behind him and turned the shower on as hot as it would go; stripped off his dirty sweats; deposited them in the hamper for the first time in weeks. In a tiny effort to straighten up, he shoved some of the clothes lying around his bedroom and bathroom in after his recently discarded ones. It was a good thing he got his work clothes dry-cleaned, or he'd have nothing to wear.

He stepped under the scorching, stinging spray and gave a little sigh of relief. The water felt amazing sloughing over his skin, and for the first time in months he felt…glad to be alive. Glad Henkel hadn't killed him. Free. He shampooed his hair twice; scoured his entire body with the loofa Garcia had given him for Christmas. (That had been an interesting surprise – "What, um…what is it?" "A loofa, silly, to use in the shower." "Why would I use something like this in the shower? It's rough." She'd just blinked at him.)

He chuckled at the memory as he stepped out of the shower and dried his thin frame. Now, clean in more ways than one, he set about preparing for his fresh start.

* * *

Less than an hour after receiving Hotch's marching orders, Jackson stuck her head into the conference room. "The files are on their way. They won't risk faxing them, so they're sending them by courier. Hotch has to sign for them. Probably has to give a DNA sample and promise his second born, too."

Her irony was lost on the small group gathered around the table. Gideon stared at her over his reading glasses with intense eyes. "That was fast," he commented.

A dark brow rose. "I called a friend," she explained.

"Must've been a good one," Morgan said. "You made it sound like it would be practically impossible to get those files."

She hesitated; stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. "I called my former partner. I was a bit surprised by how easily he was able to get his hands on them, but, like I told you before, his wife was the first victim. I guess that gives him a bit more pull."

"And they know where the files are going?" Prentiss asked.

"Yes. Hence the signing and the DNA." She waved a hand. "It seems like we got a break this time, guys; let's not question it."

"Good point," Prentiss agreed.

Gideon was still frowning. "Jack, can I see you in my office?" Though his inflection made it a question, his tone turned it into an order.

"Um. Of course, Gideon," she said, stepping aside to let him go past her out the door. She and Morgan exchanged a worried glance before she hurried to follow the older agent.

Prentiss watched them go with a frown. "What's up there?"

Morgan shrugged; shook his head. "I don't know. They have some past CIA connection, and Gideon's the one who got her on this team. I don't know why he's acting so weird now."

"I hope he's not going to let whatever personal issues he has interfere with the investigation," she remarked.

Morgan hesitated. The team (namely, Hotch) knew his past reservations about Gideon, but he wasn't sure he should share them with an outsider. He'd encouraged Jack to talk to Gideon about Reid; she'd been reluctant, she'd said, due to their history. He knew little detail, just what she'd mentioned to him in passing over the past few months, but he was gradually realizing that whatever problems Gideon had with their newest team member all went back to the Silar Creek case. Gideon felt like Jack was holding out on him about it, and Morgan knew that burned the seasoned profiler. He sighed; flashed Prentiss a blinding smile. "He's a professional; I wouldn't worry about that."

Emily Prentiss had known her share of charmers, and Derek Morgan was definitely one. He tried to get around her with those quick, easy smiles and smooth lines, but she wasn't fooled; she had never been an easy woman to get around. She studied him for several long moments before nodding slowly. "Whatever you say, Morgan. You've known him longer than I have." Her tone let him know she wasn't fooled for a minute, but she was letting him slide this time.

* * *

"This is the entirety of Peter McCall's CIA file?" an incredulous Aaron Hotchner asked a rather mortified Penelope Garcia.

"I'm so sorry, sir. Nothing else is available. I mean, I could try hacking into the CIA database…" She trailed off, and Hotch didn't like the excited gleam in her eyes.

"No, Garcia, that's out of the question. I should have known, based on E.J.'s file, that we'd get the dummy version. I'll put in a formal request for the full contents." He rifled through the slender file with a frown of consternation. "This is ridiculous," he muttered.

"I agree, sir. And if you want my opinion, I seriously doubt the CIA's going to cough up any more than that."

"They're naturally secretive, of course, but I'm sure they want the murders of two of their agents solved as soon as possible."

She frowned; looked away.

"What is it, Garcia?" he asked, glancing up from the file.

"I got the run around for nearly two hours before I even got that much, and they acted like I was requesting the combination to that weird man-size safe Cheney keeps in his office."

Hotch spared a brief smile for the technical analyst's color commentary. "I'm sure you did your best, Garcia. They probably just want a request from higher up; that's how they know you're really serious. Tell me what you have on the other victims."

She turned back to the computer, and a moment later six pictures flashed up on the various screens. "The first two victims were both male, late 20's. They were employees of the locations targeted: a small restaurant and an antiques boutique, both in DC. David Coventry, 28, had been working at Tippy Taco for two years. Anthony Birch, 26, had only been employed at Second Chances for six months."

Hotch nodded as he absorbed the information. "It doesn't seem as though the businesses themselves are the targets."

"No," Garcia agreed. "All four attacks occurred at off hours when only one or two people were at the location. Alyssa Horton was a customer and John Dempsey an employee at the Kwik Stop in Arlington, VA; that was the first double murder."

"Any information from the Agency about Alyssa?"

She shook her head. "Like getting blood from a stone, sir. The only reason I got that poor excuse for McCall's file is because he's retired."

"Retired?" He flipped a few pages. "It says that specifically. He retired from the CIA at age 30 and joined the DCPD six months later."

"Who retires at 30?" she asked rhetorically.

"I don't know," Hotch said with a deeply furrowed brow. "But I'm betting E.J. does."

* * *

_Uh oh, why did Gideon want to see Jack in his office? Is Hotch having doubts about his newest agent, too?? Find out next chapter, faithful readers!_

_Reviews are like cookies: one is fabulous, but **more** than one is divine!  
_


	6. Blindsided

**a/n: **Big thanks to **Quentin2** and **chiroho** for their reviews! I hope you guys are reading their stories, because they're always enjoyable. :)

Longer note at the end, and a plea.

* * *

**Chapter 6: Blindsided**

**Twilight descends so blue, so brown  
And longing begins in this longing town.  
**-Duncan Sheik, "Longing Town"

"You're kidding me, right?" Elliot Jackson demanded, her voice rising an octave as anger swept over her in a red wave.

He just stared at her, sphinx-like.

"Come on, Jason," she cried. "This is bullshit and you know it." The two agents were in his office, the place where she'd come six months before to essentially beg him to give her a chance at the BAU. Now, after working closely together, after helping solve dozens of cases, he was telling her that he planned to put in a request for her transfer back to the CIA. Apparently the semi-permanent loan was over, at least as far as Jason Gideon was concerned.

He shrugged, raising his hands in a helpless gesture. "There's nothing I can do."

"_You're_ making the request; you just told me so. How can there be _nothing _you can do? Just don't do it." She stopped to catch her breath; ran a shaking hand through her short hair.

"I don't understand," she continued in a small voice. "Why are you being like this?"

His penetrating gaze was stony, bleak. "You didn't trust me, Jack. You knew Reid was in trouble, you suspected it was drugs, and you didn't come to me. If you can't trust me with something like that, why should I trust you?"

She pulled back, feeling like she'd been blindsided. "_This_ is why I didn't trust you, Gideon! I came to you six months ago; I showed you my file; I put all my cards on the table. _You_ held out on _me_. What was I supposed to do? I'm not a tattletale. Reid has some responsibility in this, too."

"The past is the past. You can't change it now."

A line appeared between her brows as she frowned. "You sound like a fortune cookie."

He flashed a thin, brief smile of appreciation. "I just want the truth, Elliot. You know that. It's all I've ever wanted."

The younger agent turned away, arms crossed over her chest. "I don't know it."

"You know something."

"Nothing…that matters," she murmured, her glass-green gaze trained on the view from his office window.

"You've been doing this job long enough to know that everything matters," he said patiently.

"Taj could _not_ have been involved with what happened at Silar Creek, Gideon."

"How do you know that?"

"I just _do_, ok?" she cried, whipping around to face him. "He would have told me, or I would have seen it. One way or the other, I would've known."

"He was a spy, Jack, a professional secret keeper. You told me yourself spies are hard to read; they keep secrets too well. He might have kept this one even from you."

She rubbed her face with shaking hands. "If you think I could have been so close to the Silar Creek Slayer for so long without knowing it, why the hell did you let me on your damn team? Was it just so you could find out what I know, solve the case? And now when you think you're close, you're holding the BAU over my head? Tell you what you want and I get to stay; don't, and I'm shipped back to the Agency."

He sighed and perched on the edge of the desk. "Your opinion of me must not be very high if you think that."

"I don't know what to think at this point."

The silence stretched taut as he stared at her. Finally he said, "I'm not saying your friend killed anyone; I'm saying he knew something about it, and that's why he's dead now."

"And the other victims?"

"Alyssa Horton was connected to the Agency. We both know McCall worked the Silar Creek case. You tell me."

She shook her head. "Have you talked to Hotch about this, Gideon? Doesn't he have to approve transfers in or out of the team?"

"I have approval, too. I only went to him about you out of courtesy."

"And you don't think it would be _courteous_ to tell him that now you've changed your mind?"

"He doesn't understand the situation as fully as I do."

She stared at him with hurt and betrayal like a storm in her normally clear green eyes. "I can't believe this, Gideon. I can't believe it. I got you the files; what more information can I give you?"

"How did you get them so fast, Jack? I know how hard those files are to access; I've tried. You got a promise for them in forty-five minutes."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm concerned, that's all. Concerned that your ties to the Agency might be stronger than you've led us to believe."

"You think I'm a mole? Jason, why the hell would the Agency put a mole in the BAU, of all the damn places?"

"I have no idea. You've become awfully close to Spencer, and you said yourself the Agency loves his type of super-genius. Or maybe it's to get close to me."

"Spencer and I have grown close because we relate. We're the same age, and we've both lived unorthodox lives due to natural abilities that set us apart from our peers. And if I were sent to get close to _you_, well I've certainly dropped the ball on that one, haven't I?"

He waved it away. "I don't really think you're a mole, Elliot." He sighed, face set in somber lines. "I'll hold the request for now, but I need to know that you're truly a member of this team."

"How can I prove that to you, Jason? Do I need to get kidnapped with _every_ member of the team before you believe me?"

"I just need your full cooperation on this case. I need everything you know about Silar Creek."

Her temper reached the breaking point. "Fuck you, Jason," she whispered in a small, choked voice. "You have it. You know perfectly well you have it." His silence was like a wave at its crest, all bottled energy set to explode, and she slammed out of his office without waiting for his next pithy comment.

* * *

Reid was nearly bowled over coming off the elevator as Jack stormed past him. He pressed his hand against the sliding panel to keep it from closing and studied her with worried hazel eyes. Her fury was obvious, and he hadn't seen her looking so hurt and angry the entire time he'd known her – and he'd recently pissed her off pretty thoroughly. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head in wordless ire. "Can't talk now. Let go; I need air."

He did let go, but he stepped into the elevator beside her. She shot him a glare. "I need air _alone_, Spencer."

"Not a chance. I've got a lot of ground to make up, and I guess I can start by letting you vent on me." He pushed the button, and they both watched as the doors slid closed. "J.J. told me about your friend; I'm sorry," he offered after a moment.

She softened a fraction. "Thank you," she murmured. "I am, too." They got off on the first floor and left through the lobby to wander the sprawling grounds. The spring day she'd been so looking forward to that morning had lived up to its promise: the sun was high and bright in a blindingly blue sky, and the daffodils and crocuses were blooming in colorful profusion. It was all lost on her, and her pace was so fueled by her anger that he, with his much longer legs, struggled a little to keep up.

"What happened up there?" he finally asked.

"I can't…it's so…Gideon wants to transfer me back to the Agency," she told him in a rush.

He stopped cold. "What? Why would he do that?"

She had blown past him, and now she, too, paused; turned to face him. "He says he doesn't trust me. Partly because I didn't tell him about my suspicions about you, but also…how much did J.J. tell you about this case?"

He shrugged. "She filled me in on the shooting victims, and then she told me it might be connected to an old case of yours."

Sighing, she gestured to a nearby bench. They settled, and she took a moment to organize her thoughts. "Gideon thinks I know more about the old case than I'm telling him. It's sort of his…his Moby Dick, this case. The Agency refused his offers of assistance, and it's always burned him."

"Do you? Know more, I mean," he asked as he absorbed her explanation.

"Honestly?" She let out a little breath; wouldn't meet his deep gaze. "I don't know. It was…it was a strange time. I wanted to put that case down so damn bad, but it just wasn't happening. We were almost relieved when we were shut down."

"It sounds like it haunts you as much as it does Gideon," he observed.

"I—" She hesitated; considered. "I don't know. Maybe."

"Maybe," he agreed mildly, mouth quirking.

She huffed out a small chuckle, but sobered quickly. "I don't want to go back," she whispered.

He reached over and, after a brief hesitation, took her small hand in his larger one. "You won't have to, Jack. We'll mutiny." He kept his mind clear and focused on how much she'd meant to the team – and to him – in just the short time they'd known each other.

She squeezed his fingers in silent thanks, and the two young agents sat quietly enjoying the beautiful Virginia day. The case was like a shadowed specter hovering over them, but for a few moments at least, they were able to ignore it. Together.

* * *

_Ok, like I said, a plea. After this, I only have one more chapter written - not counting the last one of the story - and I'm a bit stalled. I could really, really use some nice reviews for this chapter to help my muse get back on track. I have a rough outline written for the rest of the story, and I just need the inspiration to sit down and write it. So, if you're enjoying and you want to read more, please let me know!!_

_Thanks for reading. :)  
_


	7. Tension

**a/n:** Thank you, dear readers, for responding to my pleas for reviews. They helped me through some of my writer's block, and I'm finally back with chapter 7. :)

Please see the longer note at the end, and for now - enjoy the story!

* * *

**Chapter 7: Tension**

**She came off like a light,  
And so softly she spoke:  
'You don't know, no you don't know  
About my dark life.'  
And you think you're a guest;  
You're a tourist at best,  
Peering into the corners of my dark life.  
**-Elvis Costello, "My Dark Life"

They were only gone about fifteen minutes, but when the two agents stepped through the BAU's etched glass doors, Jackson knew she was in trouble. Hotch was standing outside his office, arms crossed over his chest, and his expression was thunderous. He gave her a long, pointed look before stepping into his office and leaving the door open. She cast Reid a rueful smile. "Well. It seems I've been summoned. Go get settled in; I'll talk to you later."

His mouth twisted in response. "Good luck," he told her.

She nodded and followed their Unit Chief into his lair. He was seated behind his desk perusing a file, and as she softly closed the door behind her, he glanced up. "Jackson. Sit down."

He wasn't calling her "E.J." That couldn't be a good sign. She took the chair he indicated and wiped suddenly damp palms on the thighs of her dark slacks. "Hotch, listen—" she began in an attempt to forestall him.

"No, Elliot, _you_ listen," he interrupted, dropping the file onto his desk and pinning her with one of his death glares. "I gave you a direct order. I don't know how things worked at the CIA, but here there is a chain of command that _will_ be followed. Do you understand?"

She swallowed. "I…I was with Reid," she offered lamely. The look in his eyes reminded her of what had happened last time she and Reid had been off together. Of course, he'd been stoned off his gourd at the time…but still. "We didn't leave campus. What UnSub is going to come for me here?"

"If your theory about an inside man is correct, then _our_ UnSub very well could. And you know full well that isn't the point." His face softened even as his frustration mounted. "E.J., you're an important member of this team, and what's more, we all care about you personally. After what happened to Reid in Georgia, and then to the two of you in St. Augustine…I don't think this team can afford another incident like that."

She looked away; blinked hard. "Thank you, Hotch. I'm sorry; it won't happen again."

"No," he replied mildly, "it won't." A small silence fell between them as he watched her steadily. "Now tell me why you stormed out of here like a bat out of hell. Is this about Detective McCall? Do you need to pull back?"

"I…no, it was unrelated. At least, mostly."

He waited for her to say more, but the silence stretched and deepened. "E.J., talk to me," he requested quietly.

To her utter humiliation, she felt a tear slip down her cheek. She wiped it away furiously and met his intense moss-green stare. "It's Gideon. He's threatening to have me transferred out."

The only sign of his anger was a minute tightening of the skin around his eyes and mouth. She knew with Hotch, the smaller the signs, the hotter the fury. She sat back a little, desperately hoping it wasn't directed at her. An instant later he removed her doubts. "I'll talk to Jason. He sometimes forgets that people are more than just their behavior; they're human beings, too." As though that matter were dealt with and closed, he slid a file toward her. "Fill in the blanks for me, E.J. Why did McCall retire from the Agency at age 30?"

It took her a moment to catch up, but when she did, her face went smooth. "I don't know," she replied automatically.

Hotch's brow twitched in annoyance. "Don't do that with me, E.J. None of us have time for games."

The mask slipped, and she suddenly looked very young and utterly weary. "To be perfectly honest, Hotch, I really _don't_ know. That was about three years ago; Taj and I weren't on great terms then. One day he was an agent, the next day my partner was inviting me to the retirement party. It took me somewhat by surprise, but I didn't press him about it."

"What caused the rift in your relationship?"

"Silar Creek," she admitted. "We worked it too hard, Hotch. It burned us out. When I say we got nothing, I mean that almost literally. We know he used a small rope or fine cord to strangle these women. We know he got into their homes without a struggle; no forced entry. The attacks were fast and hard, and they had no chance to fight back." She shrugged. "Other than that, we were floundering. When the fourth girl was killed and they shut us down, we weren't terribly surprised. We were just relieved as all hell the Slayer stopped killing."

He rubbed his brow. He was having one of those days he wished he could just rewind; everything had seemed so bright and promising as he lay in bed with Haley that morning. Then his phone had rung, and it had all gone to hell. He imagined E.J. felt pretty similar. "The case files arrived while you were out," he told her. "We're going to go over them with a fine tooth comb. Meet in the conference room in ten."

She nodded and rose. At the door she hesitated. "Thank you, Hotch," she said quietly without looking back at him.

He watched her with an intense expression she couldn't see. "It's my job, E.J. I take care of my team."

* * *

The team and Prentiss gathered in the conference room, and they all couldn't help but notice the elevated tension between Gideon and Jackson. They pointedly ignored one another, and Hotch glanced between the two with a severe frown. He had hoped his conversation with Jason could wait a bit, but it seemed like his old mentor was determined to mistrust the team's newest member. He sighed, decided to ignore them as they ignored each other, and got down to the business at hand.

"J.J. is passing out copies of the files we recently obtained from the CIA. They're pretty thin, but E.J. assures us it's everything."

"It is," she said before Gideon could offer his opinion.

Hotch eyed her a moment before continuing. "As noted earlier, the Silar Creek UnSub used a thin cord to strangle his victims. Our current UnSub uses a gun. In most cases that would negate them being the same person, but if we're dealing with an inside man, changing MO might be purposeful."

They all nodded in agreement as they studied the files. "No forced entry," Morgan noted. "It's possible the victims knew their attacker."

Jackson agreed. "We theorized that they did. Silar Creek is a small town; we suspected a local, and pretty much everyone knows everyone."

"Even the students? I know from boarding schools I've been to, students rarely have much to do with townies," Prentiss offered.

Jackson paused; considered. "Good point. We thought it could possibly be a student; Andrea Talbot taught English at the school, so a student would have had easy access to her."

"Retaliation, maybe?" Reid speculated. "Revenge for bullying or a bad grade?"

Gideon shifted in his seat. "These types of attacks indicate an UnSub the victims felt comfortable with. They most likely let him in; they turned their backs on him. Most school shooter types aren't the kid anyone wants to meet in a dark alley."

"Would an UnSub who attacks women in their homes fit the same profile as a school shooter?" Morgan asked.

Hotch shook his head. "No; most revenge killers choose to kill publicly so that they can in some way humiliate their victims. Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris," he said in reference to the Columbine shooters, "taunted the other students as they shot them."

"Alright, so let's rule out revenge-seeking students," Morgan said.

Prentiss drummed her fingers against the table a moment. "Does looking into this old case really help us? We have no way of knowing if they're even connected."

Before anyone could reply, Garcia pushed open the door. "Guys, I found something else. It's big."

"What is it, Garcia?" Hotch asked, noting the distressed look on the tech analyst's eloquent face.

"I did some digging. I mean, I did a _lot_ of digging. It looks like John Dempsey was Agency, too."

"You're kidding," Jackson responded.

"I wish, princess. He was a student at Silar Creek Academy before your time, but I can't find any record that he ever graduated. At all. Anywhere. He disappears up until two years ago when he got the job at the Kwik Stop."

"Did all students go on to join the Agency?" Hotch asked.

"No," Jackson said with a shake of her head. "It wasn't a requirement, just something that was strongly encouraged."

"There's more," Garcia said. "When Dempsey was at Silar Creek, Daniel Talbot was his academic advisor."

"Daniel Talbot? That's your partner, right?" Reid asked, face scrunching as he tried to make sense of Garcia's news.

Jackson looked even more shell-shocked than she had that morning, if such a thing were possible. "I had no idea Daniel was ever at Silar Creek," she said. "He never told me."

"Did he have some sort of special ability?" Gideon asked.

"No, he was completely blinkered." At the older agent's skeptical look, she waved an impatient hand. "They never put two Specials together; it wasn't _done_."

"Enough," Hotch said in an eerie repeat of earlier. "If we're going to work this case, we have to trust one another. We're a team here." He nodded at Prentiss to include her. "We're going to assume that anything one of us says is the truth. Understood?"

Gideon's gaze didn't leave Jackson's face, but after a moment he nodded. "Understood," he said. "I apologize, Elliot," he told her, uncharacteristically humble, "I know you wouldn't outright lie to us."

She cocked a brow at him, but decided to take the apology in the spirit it was meant. "Thank you, Jason," she conceded. She hated coming across as surly, recalcitrant, and unprofessional, and Gideon was making her both look and feel all of the above. Hopefully some time apart, working the case separately, would soothe everyone's ruffled feathers. If she knew Hotch - and she felt like she did, after all this time - he was planning just such a cooling off period.

Hotch let out a deep sigh. "Now that that's settled…Morgan and Gideon, I want you to hit the recent murder scenes. Now that we know Dempsey was Agency, talk to all of his friends and coworkers. Garcia, keep looking at the other victims, especially Dempsey. Jack, Reid, stay here and keep working the profile on both UnSubs. Detective Prentiss and I are going to Detective McCall's apartment. Any questions?"

"So we've decided that the two cases are connected after all?" Prentiss asked.

"Three begins to make a pattern," Jackson said quietly.

"We're going to keep digging," Hotch cautioned. "I want to know what the hell we're dealing with here."

"So do we all," Gideon agreed ruefully.

* * *

_I'm finally working on this again, and it's a relief. I hate leaving things hanging!_

_In other news, I've apparently been nominated for two awards in the CM Fanfic Awards - Best New Author, and Best Original Character (Elliot in "Reckoning"). Voting starts Jan. 22, so if you'd like to vote for me, send a PM to _**rogueandkurt**_ to ask how. I'm new to all this, so I don't know much about it, except I'm way flattered, and it'd be swell if you voted for me. :D And, of course, a big THANK YOU to whomever nominated me. :D  
_

_Even if you aren't interested in voting, how about reviewing? It's just that lil button down there, then a few nice (or even not so nice, if you hate it) words.  
_


	8. Like a Light

**a/n:** Thanks to **chiroho** and **maxwave** for your reviews for chapter 7! I know I'm being slow with this story, but it does help me to know there are people out there reading and enjoying it. :)

Longer note at the end...

* * *

**Chapter 8: Like a Light**

**And robber men await you then in each beguiling alley  
To shake you and to pierce you and to remind you of  
My dark life.  
**-Elvis Costello, "My Dark Life"

Less than half an hour later Prentiss and Hotch were on their way to McCall's Arlington, VA apartment. Prentiss was feeling altogether nonplussed over the whole situation, and her impatience was beginning to reach critical mass. "Can I ask you a question?" she finally said, breaking the silence that had filled the large, black Bureau-issue SUV since they'd left Quantico.

"Go ahead," Hotch allowed; his brow quirked a bit at her tone, both demanding and somehow respectful all at once.

"What the hell is going on here?" she shot back, her own finely-drawn brows drawing together over intense brown eyes. It was a simple question, and though she hoped for a simple answer, she knew she wasn't going to get it.

He kept his gaze trained on the road, glad for the excuse to avoid her glare. "Isn't that what we're trying to find out?" he replied mildly.

She shook her head. "With all due respect, Agent Hotchner, I'm not a rookie. Don't treat me like one. I know when I'm being cut out." She paused; took a breath. "Everyone knows who Jason Gideon is. He's famous for both his successes and his failures; I've even taken a few of his classes. However, I don't think anyone knows who the hell Elliot Jackson is. When someone I respect as much as Agent Gideon mistrusts someone so thoroughly, it makes me nervous.

"On the other hand," she continued, "Jackson was Taj's friend – sometimes lover – and _he _trusted her. Also, she's apparently done something to earn the respect of the rest of your team." She eyed him. "I think maybe you see my conflict."

Hotch mulled it over a moment. "You've not known her very long, but what does your gut tell you?"

Prentiss frowned; studied the landscape whizzing past the window. "I think Gideon is overreacting about something," she finally admitted. "But it galls me that I don't know what it is. And what's the big deal about this school?"

Hotch drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, the only sign of the agitation her questions prompted. "Have you ever considered that maybe you're better off not knowing?"

She blinked. "What, like, 'ignorance is bliss?' That's not a philosophy to which I subscribe."

His mouth twisted. "No," he mused, "I don't guess it would be."

"My department called _you_. Is it generally your policy to exclude the locals from key points of an investigation?"

He sighed; shifted restlessly. "Just the opposite, in fact," he conceded. "But, Detective Prentiss, this case is…sensitive."

"Damn straight. It's my partner on the slab."

"I assure you none of us have forgotten that."

"Then maybe be straight with me, ok? I don't need your condescension."

He struggled not to smile, afraid she'd take it wrong. "Yes, you've made that abundantly clear." He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "If you want to know Jackson's secrets, you'll have to ask her. She may tell you, she may not, but that's her decision to make. As for the rest of it – well, you know Detective McCall and Dr. Jackson are former CIA. Apparently the school is some sort of Agency recruitment program. I know only a little more than you do."

She nodded slowly as she digested what he was telling her. "You seemed to be including me in your team earlier, back in the conference room."

He glanced over at her quickly before returning his eyes to the road. He cleared his throat. "You're a good cop, Prentiss. You're smart, and you're tough. That much is obvious even after such a short acquaintance."

"But?" she asked when he hesitated.

"But," he continued quietly, "you're _not_ a member of my team. I want you to feel comfortable here during the course of this investigation; I want you to trust us, and I need to know that we can trust you. When this case is over, though, I need my team to still be a _team_, and if that means protecting some secrets, then I'll do it."

"When the dust settles, I'll be gone, but they'll have to carry on together," she summarized.

He nodded grimly. "Exactly. I don't mean to belittle you or offend you in any way, because I do respect your skills and I appreciate your help with this case."

"Well," she replied, turning her fierce gaze away from him, "I guess you've just put me in my place."

"Detective Prentiss, I—"

She shook her head quickly, hushing him. "It's fine, Agent Hotchner. I understand." She _did_ understand, but that didn't make it any easier to swallow. Despite everything, she was still just a local to him – to _them_. She understood, but she couldn't help that small trickle of childish, irrational hurt.

Silence was their uneasy companion for the rest of the trip to Arlington, and Hotch felt like a genuine ass.

* * *

The conference room was a shambles of case files, crime scene photos, paper cups, and the various other accoutrements of a criminal investigation. Jackson had switched from gut-searing coffee to tea hours ago, and now she sipped her orange blossom jasmine concoction contemplatively as she studied the autopsy reports on the Silar Creek victims for perhaps the hundredth time. "I feel like there's something I'm missing," she complained. "It's like it's right here and I can't quite see it."

Reid glanced up at her from his own pile of reports and photos. "It looks like you guys were pretty thorough. I don't see anything right off hand that you might have overlooked."

She threw the file aside with a frustrated sigh and selected another from the pile. "Let's switch gears. Victimology for the recent murders?" she suggested.

"Good idea," he said, gaining his feet and moving to the crime board. "We have three victims who were currently or formerly Agency." He wrote on the dry erase board as he spoke, and Jackson nodded in agreement even as she marveled over his childish, scrawling handwriting. Super genius or not, he'd apparently been absent the day they taught penmanship.

"Right," she said, refocusing on the case and studying the report she was holding. "The first two, victims, however, seem to be the exception."

Reid frowned, studying the crime scene photos with a critical eye. "Hey, Jack, what type of weapon was used in the first two murders?"

Her brows flicked together as she flipped a few pages; scanned for the information. "Umm, looks like a standard Saturday Night Special. A .22. Piece of shit."

He nodded as though he'd known the answer before he'd asked it. "And the other four?"

She found the pages in question and blinked in surprise. "A .38, most likely a revolver." She frowned. "A revolver? No shell casings. Was he getting smarter?"

"No…" Reid replied distractedly as he examined the pictures. His brow creased; jaw worked. She recognized the signs of his mighty brain in action, and she waited patiently for his thoughts. "Look at this," he said, pointing to the photos of the first scene, the taco restaurant. "The victim is shot several times in the chest, and he's sprawled out in front of the safe. It's more like the UNSUB…was interrupted? Or thought he might be?"

She rose to stand beside him, and her glass-green eyes narrowed as she compared the scenes. "Similar set-up in scene two," she remarked, "but with Horton and Dempsey and Taj and Nelson, it seems…"

"Different," he completed when she trailed off.

"Yes," she agreed. She reached behind her and grabbed the autopsy reports on Horton and Dempsey. She pointed at their pictures. "They were both shot in the chest, like the previous victims, but the ME concluded that the kill shot – the _first_ shot – was this one to the back of the neck."

"Why would our UNSUB shoot the last four victims in the back of the neck, then in the chest?"

It was a rhetorical question, but she answered it anyway. "They're not the same person. The first UNSUB is killing them with the chest wounds, but there's a second one. _He's_ a pro, but he's trying to make it look sloppy."

"Sloppy to switch weapons," Reid remarked.

She shrugged. "If it truly is a second UNSUB, then he wouldn't have had access to the first weapon. Forensics would've told us they were different even if they were the same caliber; switching to a revolver at least might make you think he was evolving, taking more forensic counter-measures."

"Jack," he said after a quiet, considerate moment, "if we're right, then it's more than likely these agents were the UNSUB's target. He chose to mimic the MO of this other UNSUB—"

"Why would he do that?" she interrupted.

"Maybe because it was McCall's case?"

"Maybe, but—" She stopped abruptly. Her face creased in a deep frown, and he flinched at the sudden sound of her finger slapping against one of the photos. "Tell me, boy genius," she began slyly, "what's different about these two pictures?" She pointed to the first in the series from the Kwik Stop, then at a later one from the same scene.

He glanced back and forth between the two, and she watched as understanding lit his pensive features. "The safe," he exclaimed softly.

"The UNSUB didn't open it," she whispered.

"Why were Prentiss and McCall even called to this scene with the safe closed? It's outside their jurisdiction, and that was a pretty crucial part of the first UNSUB's MO."

"We'll have to ask Prentiss, but I bet you dinner it was Taj's idea."

"He knew they were Agency. He wanted to be on the case, so he got them invited in."

"UNSUB number two got antsy because Taj was sticking his nose in – again – so he decided to stage another attempted robbery."

"None of this makes sense, Jack," he admitted ruefully.

"I think it does, Spencer; we just don't have all the pieces yet. There's a huge one we're missing, and I think it all goes back to Silar Creek."

He was inclined to agree with her, but he decided to keep his mouth shut just this once. Jack and Gideon's obsession with the old case concerned him, and he didn't want to encourage it any more than he had to. He had a feeling that, before all this was over, they would all regret having ever heard of Silar Creek, Maryland and its hushed-up Slayer.

* * *

_Ok, I know what you might be thinking: are we heading to another riddling quagmire of a plot, a la Endgame? No, actually; I know how I'm tying all the threads together, and we're slowly working our way there._

_In other news, _**_chiroho_**_ was kind enough to correct my misconceptions about the fanfic awards voting. Voting is open now, and one can visit http: / / community . livejournal . com / cmfanficawards (minus the spaces, of course) to vote._

_Also, I have my own LiveJournal now. At present it only has my CM fics, but in the future it'll have fics from other fandoms and some of my original work. See my profile for a link. :)_

_I'd love to read some reviews, dear readers, so hit that little green button and express yourself!  
_


	9. Four Women

**a/n:** A flashback chapter because I found the present to be a momentary quagmire. I like to play around in time, as y'all may've noticed. :)

* * *

**Chapter 9: Four Women**

**We should not look back unless it is to derive useful lessons from past errors, and for the purpose of profiting by dearly bought experience.  
**-George Washington

**Silar Creek, MD  
July 2002  
**

Maryland in July. She had grown up down south, in Mississippi, and she always suspected that Yankees spent their summers half-shivering in such silly getups as "summer sweaters." Who the hell ever heard of a summer sweater? No one south of the Mason-Dixon line, that's who. (a small disclaimer here: she, personally, cared nothing for the stupid Mason-Dixon line, but the deep south was the deep south, and some things are never forgotten)

One summer in Maryland had changed her mind. While certainly the July she was currently experiencing didn't quite measure up to the bone-melting, indolent heat and humidity combo Mississippi had oozed out every summer of her childhood, Maryland certainly knew how to put on a show. At the moment the air around her was heavy, almost liquid; cicadas buzzed in the distance; the sky was a blinding, sun-washed azure. She sat back in her reclining lawn chair and let out a deep sigh; soaked in the sun's blazing light like she needed it to live. The drink in her hand was dripping cold, glistening drops down her flat stomach, and she enjoyed the shivering sensations as each little globe hit her skin.

She heard him before she saw him; he was whistling, something he did only rarely. She didn't open her dark eyes; just set the lemonade aside, held out her arms and let him fall into them. Their lips crashed together, and the heat of the day was nothing to the furnace blazing between them.

She laughed softly, a low, rippling chuckle, and when she finally did look at him, her smile only widened, a generous curve of full, strawberry-colored lips. "You're late," she whispered against his mouth.

"I was busy." He kissed her again, greedily drinking in the sticky sweet-sour taste of lemons and woman. "How long do we have?" he asked when he finally came up for air.

"Dan won't be back until tomorrow; he and Elliot went off on some case somewhere. You know I don't ask questions." She stroked her fingers through his blond curls and pulled him to her again.

They were instantly lost in each other, and the day around them faded. Andrea Talbot no longer cared about the oppressive heat or the general ennui of her life. The man with her forgot that he was betraying a friend every time he touched her. And, perhaps most importantly, neither man nor woman noticed that they were not alone. A watcher stood in the long shadow of a huge, spreading oak, and with each illicit kiss the couple shared, his fury grew.

* * *

**CIA Headquarters  
Langley, VA  
September 2002**

"They won't let me be involved in the investigation, Jack," Daniel Talbot nearly whimpered. He sat slumped in an office chair, his hands fisted in his pale hair. When he looked up at her again, his cornflower blue eyes were wide and bloodshot. She raised her hand to give him a comforting, supportive pat, but at the last minute she let her arm fall away. He had almost seemed to flinch, and she couldn't blame him: some pain was better experienced alone.

Slightly frustrated by her own failure as a friend, she shook her head in a quick, whip-like motion. "Of course they won't, Dan," she admonished gently. "She was your wife. You're too close." She paused; crossed her arms over her chest. "Who's the lead?"

"Taj," he told her; peeked through his fingers to gauge her reaction.

Jackson went still, glass-green gaze suddenly far away. The silence thickened; began to set like a Jell-O mold. "Um," she finally managed. It was hardly adequate.

He let his hands fall away from his face and peered at her intently. "Um?" he prompted.

"Um, good. He's a good agent." She fidgeted; looked away. He _was_ a good agent: fair and thorough; and though Jackson knew he would work this case with everything he had, she also knew even that wouldn't be enough for her understandably distraught partner. She was afraid of where he was going, and she didn't like his line of thought at all. Neither of them had any business being involved in this case, and she wanted no part of it.

He recognized the signs of her growing nervousness, and he decided to push her a bit. "You could call him, maybe? Ask how things're going?"

Her brow creased. "I don't know, Danny, that doesn't—"

"They might put you on it if you asked," he interrupted eagerly. "I mean, with the new body—"

"She had a name, Dan," she replied in a tired, cross voice. She sighed; rubbed the back of her neck with a weary hand. "You really want me on this?" she asked quietly, assessing her partner with clear, knowing eyes. Would she feel the same way if it were her spouse of ten years who'd just been murdered? Probably. It didn't make the thought of going back to Silar Creek and investigating Andrea's death any easier to stomach.

"Yeah, Jack. I want you on it. I trust you; I trust Taj. I know the two of you will take care of Andrea." His voice was quiet and intense, and she knew he'd won.

She spread her hands in a shrug, her expression resigned. "When you put it like that, how can I refuse?"**

* * *

Silar Creek, MD  
November 2002**

"You know what they call things like this, Agent Jackson?"

"A clusterfuck?" she deadpanned.

Peter "Taj" McCall snorted out a laugh and shook his dark head. "True, but that wasn't what I was talking about. I meant you and me. Here." He gestured back and forth between them, and she stared at him blankly as he raised his brows at her. "It's kismet!" he finally supplied. "_Kismet_, Jack. You and me, together again. It's a sign from the Universe."

She breathed a skeptical little huff. "Do you honestly buy into your own BS, or do you just love the sound of your voice that much?"

He shrugged easily, and his grin was irrepressible. "Both, I think." He lifted the yellow crime tape and allowed her to duck under it ahead of him.

She rolled her eyes, but her lips were twitching as she tried to keep from smiling. She knew his humor was to counteract their equal and shared horror at having to visit the scene of another girl's murder. It was the third killing by the man locals were dubbing the Silar Creek Slayer, and so far neither the local cops nor the CIA had anything to go on. "No forced entry. Again," she remarked as she struggled with the uncomfortable latex gloves.

He pulled on his own with ease, and then reached over to assist her. "You're one badass cop, Jackie Brown."

"What can I say? Pam Grier I am not. Ok, focus. No forced entry."

His face smoothed as his professional mask fell into place. "She was a student at the Academy, too. No roommate."

Jackson shook her head. "How horrible. You send your kid off to school, and next thing you know…" She trailed off, face set in tense, brooding lines. "They're supposed to be safe. Here, of all places, they should be safe."

The hollowness he heard in her voice bothered him; he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and studied her intently. Which one of them would burnout first, he wondered. She was young; too young to be seeing shit like this and jumping through Agency hoops; but she was resilient. This case and those like it, and doubts like the ones he was currently having, made him feel ancient. Methuselah McCall.

"Taj? You ok?" The cop mask had slipped momentarily, and she had seen…something. Something she didn't understand. Uncertainty and doubt and darkness.

He grinned again, and it was like the moment had never happened. "All systems go, partner mine. Let's walk the scene, shall we? She was killed in there…"

**...**

**January 2003**

Four women dead. Four lives snuffed out, three of them high school girls barely out of childhood. Andrea Talbot. Jessica Martin. Sarah Gold. Katherine Gordon. The names ran through his head in a constant litany, and he couldn't shake the memory of their death-glazed eyes. This case, he felt, would be the death of him.

"Taj?" Her voice floated through his thoughts like a leaf on the wind, and he realized from her tone that it wasn't the first time she'd called his name.

He cleared his throat and hastily cut the power to his computer monitor; blanked his mind. "Jack, what's up?"

Jackson's brows drew together as she watched him. "Um. Taj, listen, are you ok?"

She'd probably asked him that five thousand times in the months since she'd first said it, at Sarah Gold's off-campus apartment when the weight of the case had seemed suddenly so heavy. Looking back, he knew back-then Taj hadn't realized how good he'd had it. He envied back-then Taj. Just-now Taj felt like both Methuselah _and_ Atlas. "Yeah," he managed, "I'm fine. What's that?" he asked, indicating the file she was holding.

"Oh," she said as though she'd forgotten it, "it's Katherine Gordon's autopsy results. Want to—"

"No," he interrupted hastily. "No, I don't think I can stomach another autopsy right now."

She paused. "Ok," she said after a tense little moment. "It can wait. What were you working on?"

He would have to lie to her. She wouldn't read him, but she knew him well, and the less he had to lie, the better. "Um, oh, just my report. You know, updating the boss."

A fine brow rose over a perceptive green eye. "Do you need my input?"

He fidgeted a little. "Nope, it's all good. I'm pretty much done."

"I…Taj, what's going on?"

He sighed; ran a hand through his closely-cropped hair and down over his face. His cheeks were rough with stubble, and he knew he looked like shit. She would have made a mental note of that, too. "You trust me, right?"

His voice was serious, minus all its usual levity, and she stared at him intently. "I trust you as much I trust anyone here," she replied carefully.

"I guess that's the best I can hope for."

"You could level with me, Taj. That would help."

He looked away; back. His face was tight, eyes pleading. "There are some things you're better off not knowing."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly; considered her next words with care. "I don't buy that," she said quietly, "but I know it's just shop talk for 'butt out,' so I'm going to take your advice."

"Thank you, Jack."

She nodded once, crisply. "Don't make me regret it."

"I can't make any promises" was his bleak, bitter reply.

She found herself grimly unsurprised and thoroughly disappointed in them both, an uneasy mix of emotions that gave her the mental equivalent of indigestion. Sometimes, Jackson reflected wearily, she really hated her job.

* * *

_Reviews are like cupcakes with sprinkles! (I really like cupcakes with sprinkles)_


	10. Coming Clean in a Dirty World

**a/n:** Thanks, as always, to my wonderful reviewers. :) And I noticed a few of you added this to your "watch" list, so hooray! I'm glad people are reading and enjoying. :)

We've returned to the present day now. Sort of...not exactly, since this story takes place in season 2...but the story's present. Um. You know what I mean. :)

* * *

**Chapter 10: Coming Clean in a Dirty World**

**And I feel like the last hair  
On a head gone bald:  
Not much point in bein' there.  
Oh no, no point at all.  
**-David Gray, "Brick Walls"

"I don't think I can break into this, sir," Garcia admitted reluctantly as she stared at the screen of Taj McCall's laptop, a dismayed little frown sitting uncomfortably on her normally cheerful face. The computer was demanding a password, and it warned her that she had five tries before the entire hard drive was erased. "He wouldn't use such fancy protection if he didn't have something important on here," she said.

The furrows etched on Hotch's brow deepened as he watched his tech analyst tap a few keys with hesitant flaming pink-tipped fingers. "It's ok, Garcia," he assured her. "We don't want to risk that."

"You know," Prentiss began after a brooding silence, "we should ask Dr. Jackson."

"You think he might've told Jack his password?"

"Knowing Taj, probably not," Prentiss conceded. "But he told me to contact her if anything happened to him. He might have made his password something that she could guess."

Hotch nodded his agreement and hit the button on Garcia's phone that connected him to the conference room. When Reid answered, Hotch explained the situation to the young agent, and a few minutes later, both Reid and Jackson were squeezing into Garcia's cubby.

"You found Taj's laptop?" Jackson asked as she peered over Garcia's shoulder. "Five tries and it's wiped. Well that sucks."

"My thoughts exactly," Prentiss said with a small curve of her lips. "Think you might have an idea of what his password could be?"

She started to shake her head, but Hotch held up a hand. "Think hard, E.J. It might be something that would be significant to the two of you. An anniversary, maybe? Or your birthday?"

Her mouth opened; closed; lifted sardonically. "He could never remember my birthday, and we didn't really have an anniversary per se. Taj was awful with dates."

He made an impatient gesture. "Ok, then, something it _could_ be. Work with me, E.J."

"Alright, alright, I'm thinking. I guess try my birthday, just for giggles. No one would ever think of Taj using a date."

Garcia typed in the appropriate digits (she was the one who always planned inter-office birthday events, and unlike Detective McCall, she was _very_ good with dates), but it was quickly rejected. "Not it. Four tries left."

The other agents let out simultaneous sighs of frustration. "How about just her name? It's simple, but not something anyone would accidentally stumble upon," Reid suggested.

"Why are we assuming the password has anything to do with me?"

Prentiss explained her theory again, and Jackson nodded in reluctant agreement. "Ok, that makes sense. But he would know…" She trailed off, and her small face creased in concentration.

"What?" Hotch prompted.

"He would know I would never guess my birthday or anything super obvious." She chewed her lower lip a moment, then leaned across Garcia to tap a few keys. "No, no," she muttered as the program again rejected the entry. "Think, Jackie Brown, think."

Reid raised a brow in Hotch's direction, and the lead agent shrugged, just as mystified as his younger colleague. Jackson drummed her fingers against the desk in a steady tattoo. She closed her eyes and thought of Taj – his smile; his frown; the way he rubbed his face when he was frustrated; his irreverent sense of humor.

"Nosy bastard," she murmured with a grin before typing again. This time her entry was accepted, and Taj's laptop was open to Garcia's skilled snooping.

"What was it?" Hotch asked with a small, bemused smile.

Jackson shrugged; looked a bit sheepish. "One of my old Agency login passwords. He was always looking over my shoulder, and he would tease me about my password because he said it was too obvious; it seemed fitting."

"Alright, my loves, let's see what the Queen of All Knowledge can unearth for you!" Garcia exclaimed as she searched the computer. "Ooo, look at this; pictures!"

"If it's porn, I'm leaving," Prentiss declared.

"I don't think so, peaches; they look like surveillance photos to me."

"Let me see those," Jackson said, leaning over Garcia's shoulder again. Her brow creased as she studied the images on the screen. "That's Talbot," she said, pointing at the man most often pictured.

"Your former partner Talbot?" Hotch demanded.

Jackson nodded. "The same. Why would Taj be keeping tabs on Daniel?"

"Oh, my little Jackiepoo, that's not all he was doing," Garcia said as she ran a search on Talbot's name. Hit after hit popped up, and the analyst opened the first file at hand – an email.

As Jackson read what Taj had written, the color drained from her face, and she felt suddenly and desperately ill. "I would've preferred porn," she whispered.

* * *

"No, it's not possible. I can't believe it," Jackson said again and again, like a mantra.

"He never told you of his suspicions?" Hotch asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral. They had left Garcia to her work and were once again gathered in the conference room. Hotch had had to practically drag E.J. from Garcia's cubby; she was adamant that McCall had to be mistaken. She refused to accept the possibility that Daniel Talbot could be the killer she'd hunted for so long.

"Absolutely not," she declared, shaking her head in quick, urgent denial.

"It makes sense, though," Reid mused as he passed her a plastic cup of water. "You said you suspected an inside man—"

"That's hardly what I meant!" she cried, cutting him off. "Daniel's wife was the Slayer's first victim. He asked me to join the investigation. Why the hell—"

"E.J.," Hotch interrupted quietly, "did he check in with you about how the case was progressing?"

"Well, yes, of course, he—" Her mouth closed with an abrupt snap, and she suddenly became deeply engrossed in the shifting surface of the water she held.

"He couldn't work the case himself because of the personal connection, but asking his partner to help would be both understandable, and it would allow him to keep up with what was happening," Reid said, explaining what they all already knew.

She took a small sip, but then set the cup aside with a little shudder. "I just can't believe it," she repeated in a dull, raw voice.

"You said you called Talbot about the Silar Creek case files. Was he surprised to hear from you? How did he sound?" Hotch asked her.

She sat back; let out a sigh and stared at the ceiling as she struggled to remember. It had only been that morning, but it felt like a hundred years ago. "We chatted for a few minutes – how are you, I'm fine, how's the Bureau – just small talk."

"How long had it been since you last spoke to him?"

"I got back to Langley after we were pulled off of the Slayer case, and he was gone. Then, like I said, he called me to tell me Taj was retiring."

"Gone?" Reid echoed, face scrunching. "Gone where?"

She shrugged. "Deep cover, I assumed, because no one would tell me. Apparently he'd requested reassignment."

"Did you think it odd?"

She looked away; her jaw worked as she considered her answer.

"E.J., listen to me. I know Gideon is giving you a hard time about this case, and I know you're struggling to trust each other. I need to know that Gideon's suspicions are misplaced. I need to know that you trust us the way we've all trusted you these past months." His voice was gentle, but there was a current of steel running through it. She knew that tone: when he used it, he meant business. It was time to quit giving him the run around and come clean. As clean as she could.

"Taj never told me he suspected Daniel was the Slayer, but I knew he was keeping something from me. He was acting…weird. At first I thought it was just the pressures of the case, but finally I realized there was something more going on."

"What did you do?" Hotch asked in that same soft, hard tone.

"I…" She looked into his penetrating, moss-colored eyes, and her face was stricken. "I let it slide. I didn't press him. The truth is I didn't _want_ to know what was making him so…dark. So _not_-Taj."

Hotch sighed, and concern lined his face. "We've all done it, E.J."

Her mouth quirked. "I bet you haven't."

He cleared his throat; grimaced. "That's…that's not really the point," he said.

Prentiss hid a snicker with a cough, and Reid's mouth twisted. Jackson just shook her head as she fought a smile. "Aaron Hotchner: a real American hero," she commented sardonically.

"Alright, enough. How did Talbot react when you requested the files?"

She shook her head slowly; ran a hand back through her short hair. "He didn't hesitate, Hotch. He said he was glad someone was reopening the case, because he hated that Andrea never got justice."

"Exactly the sort of thing you'd expect a grieving widower to say," Reid remarked.

"Well, yes," Jackson said, "which is certainly not proof that he's anything _but_ a grieving widower."

Reid blinked at her convoluted syntax, unsure whether to agree or disagree with her. In the end, he decided that a sage nod was the safest reply.

"Ok, so, where does all this leave us?" Prentiss asked.

"It depends," Reid said. "Do we think the Slayer is the same person as the UNSUB who shot McCall, Dempsey, and Horton?" They had filled Prentiss and Hotch in on their earlier ballistics discoveries, and they all agreed that two UNSUBs seemed the most plausible theory.

"Alyssa fits the Slayer's victimology, but Dempsey and Taj don't. Why would Daniel want to kill Taj? Or Dempsey, his former student?" Jackson asked.

"I think I might have an idea," Garcia said from the doorway before anyone else could answer. The look on her face froze Jackson's heart, and she knew whatever Garcia had to say, she probably wasn't going to like it.

* * *

_I feel like the end is finally in sight for this one. I don't know how long it'll take, but at least now I can see us getting there. :)_

_Review me, please, if you stopped by. :) I love to know what you're thinking!  
_


	11. Instincts

**a/n:** I realized it had been quite a while since I updated this story, so I decided to do that. Enjoy!

Thanks to those who reviewed. :D

* * *

**Chapter 11: Instincts**

**Sometimes I wonder who you are;  
Sometimes I wonder how you stand the dark.  
**-Angie Aparo, "Seed"

"That email we found was just the first of dozens. Our Detective McCall was quite the pen pal. Or…keyboard pal…whatever. Anyway," Garcia explained in a breathless rush as she opened Taj's laptop on the conference room table and began flipping through documents, "he had quite the correspondence with John Dempsey, and nearly all the emails – except the ones about baseball – were about Daniel Talbot."

Jackson drew in a little breath, but before she could speak, Hotch nodded for Garcia to continue. She darted a little glance between the two agents, but Hotch's stern gaze beat out Jackson's imploring one, and she dove back into her spiel. "It looks like Detective McCall suspected Talbot as the Slayer from way back, and so did Dempsey."

"Dempsey did? How does that work?" Jackson asked, delicate brow furrowing.

"Apparently at some point during the course of their working relationship, Talbot completely flipped out on Dempsey. He doesn't go into details, but it scared him enough to request assignment away from Silar Creek, and as far away from Daniel Talbot as he could get – that's why he drops off the grid so completely," she said. "McCall was calling in all his favors to find this guy, because he thought Dempsey had the piece of information he needed to prove Talbot's guilt."

"Did he?" Reid said.

Garcia shook her head, nearly dislodging the flower in her hair as her pigtails swung wildly. "Nope, apparently not. He just had his instincts and a deep, sudden fear of his old mentor."

"Good work, Garcia," Hotch told her. "Let us know if you find—"

"There's more, sir," she interrupted.

He raised a brow at her, and she smiled. "McCall asked Dempsey to keep tabs on Talbot for him. That's where all these pictures are from. They were working together to make the case against Talbot. One of the last emails in here is from Alyssa Horton telling McCall to back off."

"Why would Horton care?" Prentiss demanded.

Garcia shrugged. "I don't know. McCall didn't answer her, and a day later she and Dempsey were dead."

"Well Taj didn't kill them, if that's what you're thinking," his partner said with a deep frown.

"She's right; there's no way," Jackson agreed vehemently. "And it wouldn't make sense anyway: Taj and Dempsey were working together, so why would Taj kill him?"

Hotch cleared his throat, and the quiet sound sliced through the building tension like a knife. The two women sat back, and Jackson took a sip of water in lieu of more words. "I'm going to call Morgan and Gideon back here; I doubt they've gotten much from the interviews anyway. We'll brief them on what we've learned so far, and I'm going to ask J.J. to get us invited to Silar Creek." He watched them all through shrewd, expectant eyes, but they wisely kept quiet. "In the meantime, Garcia, keep digging. Prentiss, Reid, E.J., work the profile. I'm going to see if I can get the Agency to cough up anything about Daniel Talbot." He rose, straightened his cuffs, and strode from the conference room, Garcia hurrying in his wake.

Prentiss let out a long breath as the door closed behind them. "He's hardcore."

"You've got no idea," Reid told her with a small twist of his mouth. He began passing out copies of the emails and photographs Garcia had brought them.

"You guys get started," Jackson said, "and I'll be right back."

They watched her go with puzzled frowns. "Now what's that about?" Prentiss said.

"I don't know." He hesitated; rifled through the file in front of him without really seeing the contents. "You should know things aren't usually like this," he offered after a moment.

"How so?" she asked with a lifted brow.

"So scattered. Hotch;" Reid's lips quirked; "he runs a tight ship. It's just…there was a, a kidnapping?" He frowned, hating how he made it sound like a question; cleared his throat. "That is, Jack and I were kidnapped. Last week…?"

"Ohh," Prentiss said, eyes going a little wide. "I'm sorry to hear that." She wasn't really sure of the proper etiquette in a situation like this, but surely "I'm sorry" was a safe bet.

"It wasn't a big deal. I mean it, uh, it _was_. But we're fine. Now we're fine." He stuttered to an exasperated stop and sighed. Why was he telling her all of this, and why was he making such a mess of it? "I guess we're all getting our legs back still," he managed, burying his face in the file and hoping his neck wasn't turning as red as it felt.

She watched as the color crept up his long neck and around his ears. "Well," she said at last, "I'm glad you're fine now."

* * *

Hotch stared down at the phone on his desk with a frown. This case was getting deeper and darker than he had ever expected, and he had a sneaking suspicion that the CIA already _knew_ Peter McCall's theory about the Silar Creek Slayer. Daniel Talbot had lived and worked in Silar Creek, a fact he'd kept from his partner. His wife was a teacher at the school, making him easily recognizable to students and locals. He'd kept tabs on the investigation through E.J.'s involvement. He knew enough to take the sort of forensic countermeasures the Slayer used.

Hotch was frustrated and annoyed. He understood now why this case had stuck with Gideon and E.J. over the years. Why McCall had cashed in all his old Agency chips to find Dempsey. Why E.J. hadn't pressed McCall about his theory. If they didn't put this son of a bitch down, Hotch thought it just might haunt _him_ the rest of his career.

He was reaching for the phone when a knock interrupted him. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or irritated – he didn't want to make the call, but he had to – and the mixed emotions came through in his voice as he called for the person to enter. He found himself unsurprised when Elliot Jackson poked her head around the door, and he dropped the receiver back into its cradle with a raised brow. "Can I help you?"

She blinked, momentarily taken aback by the shortness in his tone. "Am I interrupting?"

A smile flickered. "No, sorry. What do you need, E.J.?"

She took a hesitant step into his office and closed the door behind her. With a shaky smile, she found the same chair she'd sat in when he'd given her the dressing down earlier. "Hotch, I…this morning you told me to come to you if this case got too personal. You told me to tell you when I needed to back off." She paused; took a breath. "I think it has. I think I do."

He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest; fixed her with a quintessentially Aaron Hotchner Look. He studied her with the knowing, penetrating gaze for a long time, long enough to make her fidget, before he sat forward again. "I think you're wrong." His voice was stern, straightforward, and unequivocal.

"Um. I'm sorry?" Her glass-green eyes widened a fraction in surprise; that wasn't the answer she'd been expecting.

He sighed; rubbed a hand over his face. "I know what I told you, E.J., but I think we both need to reconsider. This is your case, has been since the beginning, and if I let you walk away now you'll never forgive either of us."

She turned her head; fixed her stare on a point in the distance. "Gideon doesn't want me here, Hotch, and once he finds out about Talbot—"

"You let me deal with Jason. I'm going to send you home with—" He stopped; remembered Elle; revised the thought. "I'm going to get Morgan to take you home once he and Gideon get back here, and we'll all meet up Monday morning to head to Silar Creek. E.J.," he said in a suddenly quiet, intense voice, "we need you in Silar Creek. No one knows it like you do."

She drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair for a few moments, but at last she nodded. "People don't often surprise me," she said, turning to meet his gaze.

The flickering smile again. "Nor I, but you manage it sometimes. The fact that you asked me to pull you shows how much you've grown since you got here. Do you remember the basement, with Lloyd Henry?"

Jackson smoothed her palms over the thighs of her dark slacks. "I try not to," she admitted.

"I know. It was your first case, and Henry got to you."

"I should've known I couldn't hide it from you, though I tried."

He shrugged. "It's my job." A great many words hung in the silence between these stilted sentences: he had perhaps saved her life in that basement, or maybe she, his. Either way, the moment of near-panic she'd experienced, the instant where her tight, careful control had given way to pure terror, had been – she thought – her own secret weakness to remember. Or try to forget. But of course Hotch knew. Had always known. And had let her do with it what she would.

She wondered, briefly, how the same technique had gone so horribly wrong when applied to Reid. She watched him watch her wonder it, and his eyes flickered with some nameless emotion. Regret? Grief?

Before she could get a clear handle on it, he cleared his throat, breaking the moment; checked his watch. "Morgan and Gideon will be back soon. Go get some tea; work on some old paperwork; clear your mind of this case for a bit. You can come back Monday with fresh eyes."

For the second time that day she found herself thanking her boss for what came naturally to him: the ingrained, almost second-nature way he looked out for the people he cared about. A part of her wanted to know where that instinct in him came from, and another part of her just accepted it at face value, the way she accepted hardly anything else in her life. She knew that while there were few people or things in this world worth trusting, Aaron Hotchner was one. Shaking her head, she left him to his work and went to do as he suggested.

* * *

_Ah, reviews. How happy they make my muse! Please feed her; she's hungry._


	12. In the Dark

**a/n: **It's been a month since I wrote anything on "History," and I felt the need. I also felt the need to get the poor team the hell OUT of the BAU office! So they're finally in Silar Creek, and this chapter is a bit talky, but next chapter will have a little less conversation, a little more action, please.

Also, everything in the previous chapters (except the flashback episodes) took place on Saturday, and this jumps to Monday...hence the "Monday" in the location title card...

Review me, please, dear readers!

* * *

**Chapter 12: In the Dark  
**

**Dead end driving in the dark;**  
** We don't know what we're headed for**.  
** Like lighters flicking off sparks**,  
** We've been counting on a little more.  
**-Ari Hest, "Dead End Driving"

**Silar Creek, MD  
Monday**

Elliot Jackson had hoped never to return here. It wasn't just the typical high school scars so many kids carried with them; it was…everything else. Her high school years had been no better or worse than anyone else's, she supposed, especially once she came to Silar Creek and was among kids more like she was.

The scars she carried, the ones that bore Silar Creek's brand, were from later years. She couldn't forget the haunted look that had grown in Taj's eyes as the case had weighed heavier on him; now she knew part of the weight he carried had to do with his ideas about the suspect. He hadn't wanted to tell her that her partner, the first victim's husband, was the best looking lead they had.

She knew why he had cut her out. She had let him, even. But still it bothered her. She had wanted this case put down as much as he had—

"None of this is your fault, Jack," Reid's familiar voice interrupted her spiraling thoughts as she stared out the SUV's window.

She turned her head slowly to meet his concerned hazel eyes. "Then why does it feel like it is?"

He shrugged. "Misdirected guilt—"

"Don't, boy genius," she said. "I know you mean well, but don't. Any guilt I feel is directed exactly where it belongs. If I'd done my job back then we might not have to be here now; Taj might not be dead. It's as simple as that." Her voice was gentle, but there was a core of steel to her tone that brooked no argument. He nodded, retreating, and left her to brood.

They pulled up in front of the small clapboard sheriff's office, and the sound of large car doors slamming echoed through the peaceful morning. A heavyset man in his mid-fifties hurried down the low steps to meet them, but he bypassed Hotch (every local cop's first stop) and went straight to Jackson. "Agent Jackson, good to see you again. I see you brought the cavalry this time."

Her smile was weak, but her grip was strong as she returned his handshake. "You too, Sheriff Monroe. I guess you heard I'm no longer with the Agency?"

He nodded; the early sun caught the white hair tufting around his head and lit it like a corona. "You know we like to make nice with those Agency boys; we got no choice, really, what with the school and all, but I'm glad they've handed the investigation over…but why after all this time? I was a might confused by Agent Jareau's request, but I wasn't gonna say no. I want those murders off my books bad as anyone."

"That's why we're here. How much did Agent Jareau tell you on the phone?"

His lined face went still. "She said about Taj. That's a damn shame, Ellie; he was a good man and a good cop. I know he worked that case the best he could."

For some reason these simple words from a seasoned, small-town lawman like Tom Monroe made her throat thick and her eyes sting. She swallowed hard; fought not to show how much he'd touched her. "Thank you, Sheriff; I know it would mean a lot to him that you thought so."

He gave her shoulder a brief squeeze, showing he understood, cop to cop. They stood like that for a quiet moment before he cleared his throat and indicated the rest of the team. "Introduce me and let's get started. I know it's a cold case, but us standin' out here chewin' the fat's not warmin' it up any."

"Did Taj ever come to you with a real suspect? I mean, more than just tossing out names, but a real, viable possibility?" Jackson asked him once they were all settled in the room he'd had set aside for them. Coffee was poured, and a crime board was set up nearby. Reid was busy filling in the scant details they'd scraped together since the original Silar Creek files had been last updated.

Sheriff Monroe looked suddenly wary. "Now, Ellie, listen—"

"Sheriff, please, I'm not in high school anymore. Didn't we get over this issue last time I was here in an official capacity?" she reminded him with a slight lift of her brows.

He sighed heavily. "I'm sorry; sometimes it's hard to separate the girl I knew back then and the cop now. Ok, listen. From pretty early on I suspected Andrea's husband, Daniel. I knew he was your partner, and when you were brought in on the investigation, I was pretty surprised. Taj and I were on the same page about him, and he asked me to keep my thoughts from you."

She sat back in her chair and exchanged glances with the rest of the team. "You never suspected him, Jack?" Gideon asked.

"I must be the only one," she replied in a voice dripping self-recrimination.

Monroe shifted; huffed out a breath. "That wasn't exactly your fault, I think."

Hotch pinned him with a classic Hotch glare. "What do you mean, Sheriff?"

"Taj was instructed to keep large parts of the investigation from you – evidence reports, autopsy results, witness interviews – basically anything he could get away with. I know it didn't make him happy, but—"

"He was just following orders," she murmured as her head sank into her hands.

"Why would he do something like that?" Prentiss demanded, aghast at the actions of the partner she had trusted so much.

Monroe fixed her with a long, steady stare, then his eyes, gone from twinkling, Santa Claus-like brightness to cold steel, darted to Jackson. "I think they wanted to see if he could. But," he continued, holding up a hand to forestall her explosion, "they also didn't want you pursuing Talbot. I don't know why, but once we got too close, the investigation was shut down and Talbot was transferred. That much you know."

She felt sick. "This is ridiculous."

"I'm just telling you what I know, Jack," he said.

"You really didn't know any of this, did you?" Gideon said.

"I told you," was her weary, sad reply. "Was it all just a game, Sheriff? Four women died so that the CIA could see if the wool could be pulled over a special's eyes? Maybe I just really suck at my job – _both_ of my jobs."

"Don't give yourself so much credit," Monroe said. "None of this was about you, not really. If Talbot killed Andrea, it wasn't part of anyone's plan. If the Agency knew he was the one killing the other women, and they allowed it to happen, they had their reasons, and those reasons had nothing to do with you. You just happened to be in the wrong place in the wrong time – or the right place at the right time, depending on point of view – and you fit in the way you fit in."

Jackson blinked at Monroe in astonishment, and Hotch decided it was time to step in. "We'll need the information McCall was instructed to hold back. I assume you have it? And since you seem so sure Talbot's your man, does it all point to him?"

"I have it, but most of it's inconclusive. The Slayer took a lot of countermeasures. It's what made us suspect a cop in the first place."

He nodded crisply. "Good. Get it. We'll also want to begin interviewing witnesses – I know it's been a few years, and some of them will have graduated and moved on, but we'll need to speak to whomever we can. We'll want to visit old scenes, as well, starting with the first one."

Monroe sighed and rose to his feet like a tired old man. "I keep the files in my cabin outside of town. They're safe there, locked up. I'll run out and get them now. Should I go alone, or do you want to send someone with me?"

Hotch contemplated briefly. "Morgan, go along. Gideon, you're with me at the first scene. Prentiss, J.J., go to the school. Reid, E.J., stay here and start calling any witnesses who have moved. We're back here in two hours unless I hear from you otherwise."

They all nodded and scattered, but Hotch caught Jackson's eye before she could escape. "Keep breathing, E.J.," he told her. "We need you on this."

She hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

* * *

_And the team goes their separate ways. Cue ominous music._

_Reviews always help Lady Muse. :D  
_


	13. Beguiling Alleys

**a/n:** I received several lovely reviews for the last chapter, and I really appreciate them! Thank you so much, faithful readers, for having the patience to wait me out on this story. :)

I'm having surgery tomorrow (not a big deal - outpatient, having my knee scoped), and I should be asleep right now. But I was lying in bed and this first scene came to me. I had to write it down so I wouldn't forget, and then tada - a whole chapter!

I have another story in the works atm (not a Jackson story, a standalone casefic), but it won't be out for a while for reasons that I'll have to explain another time. :)

Enjoy, and please review me!

* * *

**Chapter 13: Beguiling Alleys  
**

**Sunlight on a razor blade;  
Three different souls and the lives they made.  
-Better than Ezra, "Hollow"  
**

"You really think Daniel Talbot's our man?" Morgan asked Monroe. They were in one of the Bureau-issue SUVs on the way to Monroe's cabin; it was about 15 minutes outside of town, the Sheriff had said, and they were almost there. Morgan's hands were tight on the wheel as he navigated the twisting, turning roads in the failing daylight.

The lawman was silent for so long that Morgan glanced over to make sure he was still awake. "It was a bad thing, this case," he said at last. "From the minute we got the call about Andrea, I knew nothin' in the Creek was gonna be the same again. There aren't many murders here; it's a pretty quiet place." His sigh was heavy, and it filled the air with melancholy. "I hate it for Jackson. She trusted Talbot and Taj, and she's not the type to trust easily."

Morgan gave a slow nod; he knew that much from personal experience. "Would Taj have had any reason other than orders for withholding this evidence from her?"

"He knew it would hurt her, but he also knew she's a professional. Taj was a joker, and sometimes a wiseass, but he was loyal. If the Agency told him to do something, he did it…even if he didn't like it. It's just up here on the left."

Morgan turned down a long gravel drive; the big SUV handled the rutted road with ease, but the constant jolts made Morgan's teeth hurt. "You get out here much? Road's a mess."

"Not as much as I'd like. Used to, but now…some of the fun's gone. I think that happens when you keep secrets. Pull up here." Monroe climbed out almost as soon as Morgan pulled to a stop, but the FBI man hesitated.

He took his time getting out of the SUV; checked his sidearm; stood at the door and slipped his jacket on before slamming the panel closed and following the older man. It was almost full dark, and night sounds filled the air. Morgan slapped at a mosquito in irritation.

"Safe's just inside," Monroe said over his shoulder. "Won't take but a sec. You can wait in the truck if you want."

"I'll wait on the porch," Morgan said. He could easily see into the cabin's interior, but he also had a view of the surrounding woods. Something was making him nervous, jumpy; it was like a physical sensation, a prickling itch between his shoulder blades. He shrugged restless shoulders and climbed the creaking steps to the wooden porch.

Monroe unlocked the door and stepped inside. He took two steps, toward the living room, and something – he wasn't sure what, some ingrained cop instinct – raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Not wasting any more time, he screamed without turning, "Morgan, RUN!"

He hesitated only a second as the seasoned lawman's desperate cry registered; the words took a moment to find any meaning. His body was moving before his mind fully understood, and he leapt from the porch like the athlete he'd always been. He ran, and he ran hard, but he'd barely made it twenty feet before the shockwave hit. There was a boom (though such a small word seemed laughably inadequate), and Morgan was flying again.

This time he came to rest with a bone-jarring bounce and a decisive thud. Blood leaked from his ears and his nose, and now the only sound that echoed in the silent forest was the mocking crackle of flames as the remains of Tom Monroe's cabin burned to the ground.

* * *

Jackson hung up the phone and rubbed the back of her neck with a long sigh. "Anything?" she asked Reid. They had been calling witnesses for what seemed like hours (though of course it hadn't been nearly that long), and she was already bored out of her wits. She understood why Hotch didn't want her in the field, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

He shook his head, disordered curls flying. "Coming up empty. When people leave this town, they mean it."

She offered a grim smile. "I meant it. But sometimes fate has other plans."

"You believe in that sort of thing? Fate? Predestination?"

She wondered if he were making fun of her, but a quick check of his earnest expression told her his curiosity was genuine. "I don't know. I'd like to say no, of course not, but a part of me…" She trailed off with a shrug. "I feel like my life for the last several years as all been leading me right back here. I left Silar Creek with unfinished business, and I won't be able to keep going until it's all settled."

"I think Gideon feels the same way."

"Yes. I hope we can both find the closure we need this time around."

Reid opened his mouth to reply, but his phone interrupted him. "It's J.J.," he said. He hit the button to answer. "J.J., it's Reid. You're on speaker."

"_Spencer, it's Jennifer_," she said.

Reid and Jackson exchanged looks, and Reid's scrunched, concerned face spoke volumes.

"_Spencer, Detective Prentiss and I are at the school. Is Jack there with you?_"

"I'm here, J.J.," she said.

"_Great. Listen, I need you to come down here. There are some records we need you to take a look at, to get your take on some things. How soon can you be here?_"

"Um." She blinked. "Ten minutes?"

"_Ten minutes is perfect. We don't need you here, Spencer. Just send Jackson._"

"Sure, J.J., no problem," Reid said.

J.J. hung up before anyone could say anything else, and the two agents stared at the phone with identical frowns of puzzlement and displeasure. "What the fuck was that?" Jackson demanded.

"She called me _Spencer_. She never calls me _Spencer_."

"And she called herself _Jennifer_." Jackson drummed her fingertips against the table. "This is bad, boy genius. Like rotten eggs bad. Like…like…_Gigli_ bad."

He didn't get the reference, but he knew she was right. "So what do we do?"

"_We_ aren't doing anything," she said with a lift of her brows. "_You_ are going to call Hotch, and _I_ am going to the school."

"You're not going alone."

"I won't be alone. You're calling Hotch, remember?" She reached out and grabbed his hand firmly in her own. "Listen to me, Spencer Reid. I don't want you anywhere near that school. You're still shaky, and you've just returned from one damn kidnapping; I'm not letting you walk into another. You're going to stay here, and Hotch and Gideon and however many Silar Creek deputies are going to follow me as backup. Understand?"

"You were kidnapped, too," he said, though there was little conviction in it.

She squeezed his fingers. "I know. But it's me he wants, and I have little doubt that he'd kill J.J. and Prentiss if we showed up together."

Reid was silent. Finally, "Do you think Prentiss is dead?"

Jackson closed her eyes; bent her head to rest it on their joined hands. "I really, really hope not," she whispered.

"Me too."

She raised her eyes to meet his. "'Once more unto the breach,' I guess."

He smiled weakly. "Not funny."

"But appropriate." She gave his hand one last squeeze before letting go. "Call Hotch," she said. "Tell him to hurry, and to be subtle."

Reid nodded, and he was lifting his phone to his ear as she hurried from the room.

* * *

"Strange no one's moved into the house after all this time," Gideon said as the agents let themselves in.

"There's not much crime in this town; a murder is big news, and enough to scare people off," Hotch said.

They moved from room to room like ghosts, the perfect silence marred only by soft footfalls the susurrus hiss of pages turning as they flipped through crime scene photos. After several minutes, Gideon shook his head. "There's nothing left here," he said. "And there was precious little to begin with."

"Did you really intend to transfer Jackson back to the Agency without speaking to me first?" Hotch said, apropos of nothing, his voice deceptively mild, as he compared a photo of the Talbots' bedroom to the empty room they stood in.

Gideon shrugged; smiled a catlike half-grin. "I probably wouldn't have done it."

"But you threatened her with it."

"This team is important to her. What other leverage did I have? I knew she wasn't being straight with us about this case."

Hotch slid the photo back into the file and fixed his mentor with a long, measured look. "Jason, I know you've been away from this for a while, but you need to understand something. We're a team here, and if we have a problem with another team member, we deal with it openly and directly. We don't threaten. We don't look for leverage. Is that clear?"

Gideon had the grace to look…if not embarrassed, then at least discomfited. "I realize now that my suspicions were largely misplaced."

"That isn't the point."

He hesitated. Then, "No, I guess it isn't. I—" He broke off abruptly, and his expression turned sharp, like a hunter catching a scent.

"What?" Hotch said, following his gaze to the corner of the room.

"That flower is fresh."

Hotch opened his mouth; closed it again. "I'm sure friends, former students, townspeople, leave tokens in Andrea's memory."

"Outside. There was a small shrine outside. Who would come in, all the way into the bedroom, to leave a flower?"

The agents' eyes met. "He's in town," Gideon said. "Daniel Talbot is in Silar Creek right now, and he knows we are, too."

Hotch's possible reply was cut off as his phone rang. He didn't drop Gideon's suddenly grim gaze as he reached to answer it; foreboding churned in his gut like a bad burrito.

* * *

_Eep! Hotch has heartburn! That can't be good._

_Review me, dear readers, because I'll be in pain for a while longer and reviews make me smile. :)  
_


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